


Nuances of Art

by emi_robin



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Actors, Age Difference, Attempted Realism, Bittersweet, Curtain Fic, Drama, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Inappropriate Erections, Jealousy, Masturbation, Musicians, Mutual Pining, Past Relationship(s), Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, past emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2019-10-02 11:52:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 94,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17263712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emi_robin/pseuds/emi_robin
Summary: Mara Blanchard is an acclaimed violin soloist, known for her poise and interpretations that have quickly won the hearts of the performing arts world in the last few years.Well, the music portion of it anyway, since Tom Hiddleston has already been highly regarded in the film/theatre portion for his own talents in the last decade.Benedict and Sophie Cumberbatch, who happen to be Mara’s neighbours, unintentionally played a game of matchmaker for these two artistic nuts who claim that they're better off alone (even if the attraction isclearlythere).CURRENTLY REVISING





	1. March, 2018: 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **A _very_ long foreword...**   
> 
> 
>    
> I tried my best to stay 'in character'. This is obviously fiction (with real people, events, & organisations), but any other scenarios with resemblances to real (non-famous) people, (regular, not media-covered) events or what not are purely coincidental. (great minds think alike!)
> 
> Creative liberties will be taken... a lot. Some events are based off of information that the actors/etc. mention in interviews and what not, so some content will be based off of them. However, the chance of non-media covered events _actually_ happening to these people is slim, so in that case that would be result of my own thinking. :)
> 
> I have been doing quite a bit of research to fit this within a particular timeline, so if one were to search up one media-covered event, they may find that my attention to detail is rather intensive... with that being said, a realistic approach will be taken. It naturally takes a while for these scenarios to develop in reality, so bear with me when I say that some things might seem slow (especially if you're used to non-slow burn, which is me sometimes).
> 
> All original characters (basically, people that are not recognisable at all) are my creations. For original characters who play a larger role here (Mara, for example), some of their own attributes and experiences are based off of real people, and such 'real people' do not exist in this story for that reason.
> 
> As you read, you might see some interesting formatting going on. Purely for visuals, but in some cases I will be imbedding links to videos/photos (from YouTube or [my Tumblr page](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/)) _in_ the text to make some instances... make more sense.
> 
>  _Keep in mind:_ This story is currently unbeta'ed.

**** _2/2, 60 BPM_

_tick … tick_

_tick … tick_

The sound of her metronome echoed on the walls of her bedroom.

[Mara](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/182750539248/mara-blanchard-question-mark-because-i) was sure that she repeated [that passage](https://youtu.be/TPDAti0rmI4?t=199) probably about 20 times already. _It says quietly! Pianissimo! Why am I still not playing it quietly enough?_

She eyed— _glared at_ herself in the body mirror, checking her posture and her bow hold. Anchoring the [violin](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/182750696918/1735-samazeuilh-maras-violin-2017-present-how) between her collarbone and jaw, she shook her left wrist to release some tension. She went back to playing the aged instrument, sharply inhaling. And then—

_…bzzz bzzz_

_…bzzz bzzz_

_…bzzz bzzz_

Sighing, she switched the bow over to her left hand, carefully wrapping her fingers around the stick as it rested on the fingerboard of the violin at an angle. A slender hand picked up the phone sitting on top of the cabinet. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mara! It’s Sophie, and I hope you’re not particularly busy,” said woman greeted as Mara put her on speaker. “How are you, darling?”

“Oh, I was actually starting to take a quick break from my little practice session— I’m good, though,” Mara gushed. “And you?” She placed her violin and bow down on the foot of her bed, away from the glaring sunlight from the open window.

Sophie replied, “I’m pretty good, as well.” There was a brief pause. “Er… I know this seems like late notice, but Ben told me that you came back to London yesterday, so I was wondering if you’d like to come over today? I made lunch.”

“So… now?” Mara asked, raising a brow as she looked at the wall clock. _12:05_

“…yes,” Sophie confirmed. On her end, she became a bit flustered.

Mara thought about it. She looked at her well-used urtext book sitting open on her music stand, and back at the clock again. _I suppose it won’t kill to have lunch with Sophie, it’s not like the practicing I’ve been doing in the last hour was actually helpful._ She rolled her eyes.

“Well, I’d love to come over,” Mara answered with a grin, starting to open the latches on her white oblong case with her free hand. “I’ll be at your door soon— let me just freshen up.”

“Alright, see you!” Sophie said a quick ‘goodbye’ to Mara and hung up.

Grabbing a microfibre cloth from the small compartment in the case, Mara quickly wiped down the instrument of rosin dust.

“What would I do without you,” she mused as she put the violin inside the satin bag, tightened the string closure, and strapped it inside the case. Mara loosened the bow and locked it in place, then closed the case altogether and walked over to her storage closet. Since she wasn’t very tall, she only put the case on the shelf at eye level. Taking a quick visit to her vanity, she pressed a few sprays of perfume on herself.

She then studied her appearance in the body mirror, the one she just glared at herself at earlier. The outfit was casual enough— a fitting black mock turtleneck jumper tucked into high-waisted black and white striped pants. Her hair, dark brown and below her collar bones, looked reasonably kept. The brown half-rimmed glasses she wore were sufficient, especially since Mara was too lazy to put contacts in.

Walking through her house, picking up her house keys from the ceramic bowl in her kitchen, and slipping into her flats, she stepped outside of her townhouse and locked the door behind her. A few glances on both sides of the road, satisfied to find no vehicles, and she quickly ran across the street to the house where Sophie and her husband lived.

A quick knock and the door opened for Mara to be greeted by Sophie, much taller than her. Her shoulder-length hair was down in waves, and she seemed to look comfortable in her beige cable knit jumper. “Mara! It’s been so long.”

“Hi, Sophie,” Mara greeted, stepping inside her home and quickly hugging her. “I know, it’s been a _really_ long time.”

“Yes, yes,” Sophie agreed, nodding. She led Mara through the foyer and into the dining area. The noon sun was just starting to glare through the lace curtains.

The smell of smoked salmon immediately entered Mara’s senses, and her stomach grumbled lightly. Sophie gave her the side eye.

“You’re either ready to eat the lunch I made or you didn’t eat enough for breakfast.”

Mara sighed. “I had chai tea.” Sophie stared at her as if she was waiting for her to continue and list more things, which was something Mara eventually realised. “Uh… that’s it.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “You know, one of these days you’re going to pass out at my feet for not eating enough. I know you’re hungry now because I _heard_ you—“ Mara’s cheeks burned pink. “—but _please_ don’t make that a habit.”

“I know, but I’m busy, I need to practice—“ Both women sat down at the table.

Sophie started slicing the salmon in easily consumable sizes. “— _yes_ , you need to practice, but how can you practice if your body needs the energy?”

“…I’ve been able to practice without the ‘energy’ before.” Mara used her fingers as quotations, but even then did she look reluctant at her own words. Sophie stared at her with a deadpanned expression, the hand with the knife stopping.

Huffing, she continued. “You know, how about I tell Ben when he comes back? Just to have some input on the matter about your poor eating habits.”

Mara stared at her questioningly, getting herself a serving of poached eggs. “Is he not here? Where is he?” She glanced around.

“He went out to get groceries. We also ran out of nappies for the boys, so he’s getting that too— _hey_ , don’t change the subject, Miss Blanchard!”

She peered up at the glaring woman as she bit into her food. “I apologise, _Mrs. Cumberbatch_.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Alright, but we aren’t finished.”

The two women began to quiet down and start eating, and the only sound being heard was the clinking of the silverware on the plates.

After a couple of minutes, Sophie spoke up. “Er… I’m not sure if you’ve got anything scheduled next week, but next Friday is my birthday… and I was hoping if you would be able to come to the party I’m holding?”

“A party,” Mara repeated slowly. She didn’t find Sophie to be the type to hold lavish gatherings, but she’s never been invited to anything of that sort by her before.

“Well, it’s a _dinner_ party,” Sophie corrected. “I don’t normally hold these, and I didn’t want to go all-out, but I’m sure Ben wants me to make it seem like a bigger deal.”

Mara chuckled, and Sophie joined her. “Alright, I’ll admit, it would be nice to make it all fancy. _However_ , the offer still stands for you to come over. I’m inviting a few other friends of mine and Ben’s, as well.”

“I—“ Mara suddenly remembered opening her agenda journal to the 16th of March, adding in large writing with red ink: 

> _PERFORMANCE!_

“Uh…”

She heard a sigh from Sophie as she absentmindedly poked at her food. “…you can’t come, can’t you?”

“I’m afraid not, Sophie,” Mara lamented. “I have a performance that day with the Philharmonia Orchestra.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Sophie remembered, thinking about the conversation she had with her when they went out for lunch a couple of weeks… months? ago. “And I promised that Ben and I were going to watch you that day— Mara, I’m so sorry, I totally forgot when I started planning the party, _wow_ , I sound terrible—!”

“No, no! It’s alright— _oh God_ ,” Mara reassured her, worried at how apologetic Sophie became. “It’s your birthday, Sophie! Don’t worry about me— I don’t want to intervene.”

“Darling, I have birthdays every year, I could’ve had the party next year,” she told Mara, who gave her a deadpanned expression. “But… who knows where you’ll be on my next birthday? Tokyo? Los Angeles? Mara, you haven’t been in London in _ages_. I haven’t had anyone to walk across the street to and chat _or_ vent.”

“I have been gone for a _long_ time, haven’t I?” 

Only a week ago was she in Norway for her tour, performing a few concerts with the Oslo and Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra and staying there to go sight-seeing for the remainder of her time. Mara couldn’t even remember the last time she performed in London, let alone set foot in the rest of the country. She figured that she’d cherish the little time she has at home now before taking her next flight to Warsaw and continuing the tour.

“Yes, you have,” she agreed. “But then again, it’s _your_ performance and _your_ career. And like I said, I have birthdays every year. _I_ also don’t want to intervene on your success!”

Mara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well, now I feel like a shitty neighbour,” Mara confessed, and Sophie wanted to laugh at her bluntness. “ _Please_ , Sophie. I’ll see what I can do to attend.”

“Really?” Sophie sounded a bit too excited, so she refrained a bit. “I— _really?_ Are you sure? I don’t want to make your schedule more hectic or anything.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Mara replied, amused at Sophie’s poorly-suppressed tone of enthusiasm. “I’ve learned to adapt to a hectic schedule, anyway!”

Sophie chuckled. “Thank you, Mara.”

“No problem at all,” Mara dismissed, picking at a loose thread on her jumper.

She _really_ would feel terrible if she wouldn’t be able to attend Sophie’s party this year, especially since it’s the first one of Sophie’s that she’s been invited to. After all, Sophie was the first person in the area that she actually befriended when she moved to London two years ago. Sophie would leave the house in the morning to attend the rehearsals for the opera production she directed at the time, and at the same time, she would find the shorter woman leaving her house across the street, violin case worn as a backpack, heading to orchestra rehearsals. It took Mara about a month for her to realise that the theatre/opera director was interested in getting to know her. And that her husband was apparently an _insanely_ famous actor.

Contrastingly, it wasn’t long for Sophie to realise that Mara wasn’t exactly the most open person, and she most likely had a reason for it, but of course, out of courtesy, Sophie didn’t force her to tell her everything.

_[“Didn’t you play Stephen Hawking in a film years ago? I swear, I remembered watching something that you were in when I barely started secondary school.”_

_“…I did, but that was about a decade ago! It was quite a long time.” Benedict briefly wondered how old their neighbour was, exactly, but Sophie seemed very hopeful about the younger woman.]_

They were just Ben and Sophie to her, the down-to-Earth married couple. She was also certain that another famous person (or people?) lived only a few houses down, but she really didn’t care. Besides, even if she did, she would be gone for at least half the year because of her tours, so she wouldn’t be able to see and gush over them anyway.

_I better head back after eating._ Her first performance in London is a week from now, but she felt like there was more she could do to ensure readiness, so she’s been stuck in her house ever since she came back.

As Mara and Sophie feasted on their lunch, they both heard the audible _click_ of the front door opening, and the shuffling of feet and grocery bags. 

“Sophie? I might need some help.” A baritone voice spoke from the foyer.

“It’s Ben,” Sophie told Mara, taking the napkin from her lap and placing it on the wooden table. She glanced at Mara’s half-empty plate. “Feel free to get more food if you wish, darling.”

“Would you like me to help as well?” Mara asked, starting to stand up.

Sophie shook her head. “No, no, it’s fine. You’re the guest here!” And she stepped out.

Mara sat in silence, now trying to plan her schedule next Friday. _The concert starts at 7 with Sibelius’s Karelia Suite— no more than 20 minutes, then me with Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto— which is about 30 minutes? If I remember correctly… then my encore piece— oh shit! I didn’t choose one yet. Maybe some Bach will do, or— ooh! Ernst’s Der Erlkönig would be cool, but I haven’t performed it in a while. I’ll think about it later. Then the program concludes with Tchaikovsky’s—_

“Mara! I didn’t know you were here.” The bespectacled woman was snapped out of her thoughts, and she turned around to find Benedict smiling down at her. She noticed that his outfit was very casual— wait, why was that the first thing she noticed?

“Yeah,” Mara responded, nodding. “Sophie invited me to have lunch, and I’ve eaten a rather large portion of it, as you can see.” She gestured a hand to her plate, piled a bit higher than she initially thought.

“Ben,” Sophie addressed to him. “I made you some pasta salad since you obviously can’t eat the salmon… and Mara’s apparently finishing it anyway.”

Mara looked at her with an aghast look, and playfully swatted Sophie’s arm as she started laughing.

Benedict chuckled, and Mara couldn’t help but be amused by how it almost echoed in the room. “Well, I’m sure you two are enjoying yourselves. How was performing in Norway?”

“Oslo and Bergen were beautiful,” Mara gushed. “The venue I played in first— the Oslo Concert Hall, yeah, the acoustics are incredible. Also, there’s this one area in Oslo… uh, I think it was Bygdøy, there are loads of trails to go hiking, since some of the area is quite forest-y and whatnot and it’s really fun! I went on my days off.”

“That does sound entertaining,” Sophie mused. She playfully swatted Benedict’s arm. “Let’s add that on our list of places to go.”

“You convince her too easily,” Benedict told Mara, who laughed. His eyes widened and he turned to Sophie. “Oh! Er… has Sophie told you about the dinner party?”

Mara nodded. “Yes, she has—“

“—and she can’t go!” Sophie finished, giving her a pointed look.

“Let me guess, concert?”

“Royal Festival Hall.”

“Oh, the ride there might take a while, when does it start and end?”

“7 to 8:30 PM.”

Benedict and Sophie shared a look. “I... I think you could still go, actually,” Sophie informed her with a small smile.

Mara raised a brow. “Really…? When does _your_ party start?” She probably should’ve asked this earlier.

“It’s at 5.”

“…I would have to leave early if you’re so insistent on me going.”

“I don’t mind.”

The bespectacled woman looked hesitant. “…are you sure? I’d feel terrible to leave so soon.”

“Well, you’d only be here for about an hour and a half, but compared to you _not_ going that’s loads of time.”

Mara pondered about that for a couple of minutes. Making a decision, her mind suddenly felt clear of anxiety from intense planning. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “If you _say_ so… but that makes things _a lot_ better.”

 

* * *

 

_...bzzz bzzz_

_…bzzz bzzz_

Several pairs of eyes landed on the black phone that was sitting face down on the table. Tom hastily picked it up to find his agent calling him.

“I’m really sorry, but do you mind if I step out to answer? It’s my agent.”

Benedict shook his head as he sipped his champagne glass. “No, not at all.” With his free hand, he gestured for Tom to freely go into the hallway. Sophie smiled at Tom as he quickly apologised again and walked out, taking his phone with him. Freezing for a moment, Tom swiftly turned around to take his champagne glass with him. Benedict raised a brow at him but let him be.

Once he entered the hallway, he answered. “Yes?” Tom responded.

“Yes, hi Tom, I’ve got an update on the whole theatre presentation,” his agent spoke. “So, it’s likely that the presentation will be rescheduled about four months from now since…”

Tom’s eyes widened a bit. “…I have to promote _Infinity War_ , yes— four months?” He took a “small” sip of the champagne.

The man on the other end of the line paused. “I— _yes_. Four months. Now, I know that seems like a while but… er, is that a problem, Tom?”

“… _No!_ No— not a problem,” Tom informed him. “I’m sure it’s out of your control—“

_… Slap!_

His eyes immediately landed on the source of the loud sound, and back in the dining room. No one seemed to be fazed by it (or even acknowledge it). It seemed to have come from the room that Tom was coincidentally standing next to, and out of curiosity he moved closer. The full lite door allowed Tom to peek inside the room from the hall, which he now remembered it to be Benedict and Sophie’s home office.

Two of the walls were covered with shelves and well-read books, and there was a leather corner couch with throw pillows and a floor lamp next to it. From Tom’s perspective, he could only see the leg of their desk. Sophie’s piano was set up in the corner in order to give as much space as possible for the rest of the room. A white case for… _something_ was opened on the couch and next to the piano was a music stand with an open book. What surprised Tom the most was a shorter woman with her back to him, playing a violin. She was wearing a red fitted sweater with black wide legged pants. He could only see some part of her face.

He couldn’t make out the sound, but—

_… Slap!_

“What the—“ he heard through the door. Tom raised a brow. _Who is that?_

“I’m really sorry about that. There _is_ nothing I can do,” his agent said through the speaker of his phone. “I’ll call you back if I get more info, yeah?”

“Er, yes— call me back as soon as you can,” Tom absentmindedly answered, his focus still mainly on the room. He realised that the door was slightly ajar. His agent hung up, leaving a seriously confused Tom.

_… Slap!_ … _Slap!_

That time, Tom saw that the woman would lift her arm up and… strum the instrument? But the slapping sound was still there.

“Alright, _why—_ “ the… American? voice behind the door spoke. 

He didn’t even realise that he was moving himself even closer to hear. Then… _really_ fast [violin music](https://youtu.be/JMnPJLTthwE?t=181) which obviously came from the woman.

Tom thought he was out of his mind at this point.

Why else would he find some random woman playing a violin amongst the sounds of loud chatter and the clinking of tableware?

He looked down at his left hand, grasped tightly around the stem of a champagne glass. _I can’t be buzzed by this already..._

Just to clarify, attending the dinner party was sort of a last-minute decision. It wasn’t an act of compulsion or anything— Benedict had given him the invitation about a week ago and he initially rejected due to a schedule conflict. His agent phoned him only a few hours ago to tell him that his scheduled talk at the drama school had to be rescheduled. Tom didn’t really receive much information, except that the person presenting with him had an emergency and would not be able to speak with him later.

_[“No, that’s alright,” Tom assured his agent earlier on the phone, who started sounding apologetic on the other end of the line. “I do hope she recovers quickly.”_

_“I’ll pass that on to the organisation. I guess you’re free today, then— enjoy the single day off in your busy year. A month from now you’ll be on the promo tour for Infinity War.”_

_He chuckled. “Definitely excited for that. You make things incredibly easier to manage. Thank you for telling me.”]_

Now there he was at Benedict and Sophie’s home, celebrating Sophie’s birthday with their family friends. In the other room, he could hear laughter erupting from the other guests. Tom was amused by how much Benedict’s baritone laugh seemed to stand out in comparison with the other sounds of laughter.

The events of the last hour passed by rather quickly, though. It wasn’t a completely formal gathering, but it didn’t kill him to dress nice. Donning a light blue button up and dark slacks, he walked up to the door of the Cumberbatches’ home to be greeted by Benedict, who dressed similarly. However, Tom couldn’t be bothered to wear contacts, so he was wearing his glasses.

_[“Tom! I haven’t seen you in a long time,” Benedict greeted, stepping out a bit to hug the other man. “How are you?”_

_“I’m great, actually,” he spoke as he hugged back, being a bit finicky with the small but heavy box. A green ribbon was wrapped around it and tied neatly at the top. “I agree, I don’t think I’ve seen you or this house in a while.”_

_The older actor glanced down at Tom’s apparel and smirked. “I really like the shirt you’re wearing, Tom,” Benedict humorously told him as he took the small gift from Tom’s hands. His eyes darted down at the gift, a bit surprised at the weight of it. “I think it looks like mine.”_

_“Does it? Goodness, I didn’t notice at all.”]_

He was led past the foyer, the heels of his leather shoes clicking against the ebony hardwood floor, and into the main dining area which was connected to the kitchen. A myriad of scents filled his senses at once, from the dishes being kept in the oven to the scented candle that was lit on the island counter to vaguely mask the smell of cooking.

_[“Where’s Sophie?” Tom asked as he wandered around the dining table, studying each platter of food that was already out._

_Benedict glanced behind them. “Oh, Sophie— she’s changing her outfit. She thought it wasn’t nice enough for the celebration, but I thought it looked perfectly fine.”]_

He was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a groan. Tom looked up to find the woman shaking her head, and tapping her foot with a steady rhythm. Violin. A pause. More violin. Another pause and a groan.

Tom slowly opened the door, lightly knocking on the glass. The woman immediately froze, still in playing position, but she immediately went back to focusing on her music.

“I’m alright, Sophie. Unless you’re Ben, then oops. But I’m alright,” she assured.

“Are you sure? You sound like you’re getting more irritated.”

The seemingly unfamiliar voice made her put her instrument down, and she whipped her head around to look up at the curly-haired, bespectacled man. She didn’t have her own glasses on. _Who— oh, that’s… that is… Tom Hiddleston. Yeah, that… guy._ _The Shakespeare guy. Or the Marvel guy, either one. Ben’s best friend._ Mara immediately became flustered. “Oh, uh… yeah… you heard me, didn’t you?”

“Not the quietest player, I’m afraid not,” Tom told her, smirking. “I heard some… _slapping_ sounds. Is everything alright?”

“I— you heard that too, of course.” She rolled her eyes, but not because of him. “Um… I can promise that _that’s_ not supposed to happen in that passage. The chords are meant to be, uh, I guess more… softer.”

He glanced at the open music book, but there was no title on the pages— or actual _words_. “What’s that song that you’re playing?”

“Uh…” Mara felt a bit embarrassed to look at Tom directly in the eye. “It’s the— um… the Violin Concerto in E Minor by Felix Mendelssohn.”

Tom nodded, apparently interested. “I— er, don’t think I’ve heard of that before.” Mara’s cheeks turned pink. “Well— I mean, I might have and I just didn’t know the name of it, or maybe I came across a recording of someone playing that, or… yeah, I’m sorry, I really don’t think I’ve heard it before.” He smiled at her sheepishly. Mara looked at him pitifully, slightly amused at his circumlocution out of… nervousness? From what she knows about the guy, confidence radiates off of him practically all the time, so he can’t be nervous… right?

He regained his composure. “Nevertheless, it sounds— _you_ sound very good. _Really_ — you sound like you’ve worked really hard to be where you are now. How long have you been playing the violin?”

Mara anchored the lower bout of the violin to her body with the crook of her elbow. “Uh…” She didn’t actually expect to answer that particular question so soon. “23 years. I’ve been playing for 23 years. I— well, when I was only 4.”

“23 years? Since you were 4?” Tom repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. “That’s amazing.”

“You think so?” Mara questioned. “It doesn’t seem like that long to me.” _What the— how arrogant do you sound right now?!_

He apparently didn’t seem offended by her bluntness. “For you, maybe not! So… you must be 27 right now. Unless…”

Her eyes glinted with amusement. “26. My birthday hasn’t passed yet.”

“I see, and when is it?” Tom walked inside the room, but still at a distance from her out of respect. “Er— if you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

Mara shook her head. “No, no, I don’t mind at all. It’s in August. I’m a summer child.” She mentally slapped herself in the face. _Summer child— what the_ _fuck_ _Mara?_

“Really? I suppose I’m a winter child then. My birthday was actually last month.”

_At least he rolled along with it._ “That’s sweet,” Mara commented. “What’s it like being a year older since last month?”

“Oh, it’s nice,” Tom responded, looking enthused by this conversation. “You’re still learning. People still think you’re getting older, but this is the time where you’re not supposed to care. Hope your hair hasn’t turned grey yet. If it has, hope there aren’t any embarrassing photos _or_ videos of you circulating around— your hair will probably be gone. Hope you achieve your life goals before your time is up. Just little things.” _I can’t breathe— the amount of sarcasm, that’s my thing!_

“Wow, I would _imagine_ ,” Mara said, nodding with exaggerated enthusiasm. She and Tom locked eyes with one other, clearly amused as they both pressed their own lips together to suppress laughter.

_His eyes are so… pretty. They’re… what? Blue? Mixed with hints of green, or grey… but mostly blue…_

Mara’s analysation of Tom’s eyes immediately stopped when they both burst out laughing. _His laugh, oh my God!_

“You— you sounded _so_ serious! I mean, even if your message did come across— maybe not in the most… ah…”

“…the most _helpful_ way, I presume—“

“— _yes_ , I—“ Mara couldn’t finish her thought as she kept laughing, and Tom still joined her in amusement.

While still chuckling, Tom continued. “What—what’s your name?” He attempted to enunciate clearly.

Mara wiped her eye with her free hand of tears. “It’s Mara— I’m Mara.” She put out her hand, and Tom shook it firmly.

“I’m Tom… if you didn’t know.”

The shorter woman slowly nodded. “…sorry, is it bad to say that I already knew?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, no, I don’t mind. I figured that, er, you obviously must know Ben if you’re here, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you know who I am because of him.”

“Or the films… shows that you’ve been in.”

“Yes, that too.” Tom smiled and stepped closer to her. He studied the aged instrument in her arms.

“That’s a gorgeous violin,” he commented, still staring at it. “It looks like it’s endured a lot.”

“It certainly has,” Mara agreed, glancing inside the f-shaped sound hole.“Since 1735.”

“1735?” Tom repeated, leaning in towards the violin (and Mara as a result). She tried to ignore how much closer he got, and the lingering scent of his cologne. “Almost 300 years old. You must be proud to own and be able to play on an instrument that’s practically older than the entire district.”

Mara chuckled. “I tend to be stingy about it, but lucky for you, I think you’re trustworthy. _Worthy_ , as you might say. Would you like to hold it?”

His eyed widened. “Oh, that might not be a good idea, Mara. It slips out of my hands and you might be out of a passion.”

“Oh, come off it. I’ll be here to catch it if it falls. My instincts might surprise you.” She hasn’t seen or _heard_ herself be this confident until the beloved actor walked in— why _now?_

Extending the violin out to Tom, he quickly put his now empty champagne glass on the office desk and his phone in his front pocket. He gingerly grabbed the instrument and held it as he remembered Mara doing— a hand wrapped around the neck and the other hand cupping the lower bout. Tom looked at the patterns of the varnish, how the colour was the heaviest at the waist but progressively got lighter as it extended outwards. 

Now he realised what she stared down at. Inside the sound hole was a label. 

“Antonius Stradivarius Cremonesis, _faciebat anno_ 1735,” Tom read with the Latin and everything, and it clicked to him. Mara noted how his Latin was awfully accurate. “Stradivarius? Don’t his instruments have this sort of… inimitable quality?”

“Yes… and you’re holding one.”

If his grip was anymore gentle, it could’ve had _actually_ fallen out of his hands. He quickly gave it back to Mara out of fear that it would. It didn’t help that Benedict chose this as the right time to walk in.

“Mara, would you like to join us—“ Benedict stared at the two, wide-eyed. “Oh… I see you two have met.”

“Yeah…” Mara mumbled, cheeks turning pink as she avoided Tom’s gaze.

Tom was feeling a bit embarrassed. “I— yes, I just heard her playing while I was on the phone.”

Benedict merely glanced between the taller man and the shorter woman, before sighing. “It’s almost 6, Mara,” he informed her. “Do you want to join us at the table before you leave? The same question applies to you too, Tom.” He smirked at Tom.

“Yes, of course,” Mara said, turning around to put her instrument back in its case.

Benedict nodded, walking back into the dining room. Tom stepped out into the hallway, but he faltered as he watched Mara do her post-practice routine: loosening her bow, cleaning the instrument, etc.. _She’s awfully pretty…_

Tom gave her a more stern look. “You know, I felt like I was going to drop your violin.” She whipped her head at him, shocked. “If I did drop it, I did warn you. It wasn’t a good idea for you to hand it to me anyway, so that’s… that would have been very irresponsible on your behalf.”

Mara closed the latches on her case as she still stared at him. She tried to suppress the shock from him being blunt with her. “You… yeah… maybe I shouldn’t have done that…?” She had a sheepish look on her face.

He sighed. “Yeah, maybe not… I did enjoy getting to know you, though. Why are you leaving early, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, um, I’ve got a performance. It doesn’t start until 7, but it takes a while for me to get there. I’d feel really bad for outright not going to Sophie’s party so she insisted that I’d at least be here for the first hour. But… with the condition that I'd be allowed to practice for a bit.  It probably seems a bit rude for me to be in here instead of actually interacting with anyone…"

Tom nodded at her. “I see. Well, it’s a shame you can’t be here for the remainder of the time because I’d _love_ to talk to you more.” Mara died a little inside. “Good luck tonight, though! I’m sure you’ll do outstanding.”

She smiled at him, ignoring the little flutter in her stomach. With another increase in confidence, she held his shoulder, and his eyes slightly widened at the sudden contact. “Uh… thank you, Tom. I really wish I could talk to you more, too—”

“ _Mara!_ ” Sophie called out to her from the dining table.

“I suppose you better get back in there,” Tom commented, ushering Mara with his hand which lightly hovered over the small of her back. She didn’t mind in the slightest.

Her spot at the table was… _coincidentally_ next to Tom, and she and the other guests all conversed happily over their glasses of champagne and platters of food. Mara eventually had to rush out with her violin case, hugging Sophie and Benedict as a farewell as Sophie decided to open some of her gifts. Tom watched her as she put the case on her back, gathering all of her music in her tote bag, and saying ‘goodbye’ to a few other of Sophie’s friends.

As Sophie opened Tom’s gift, the silver box with the green ribbon, Benedict couldn’t help but notice Tom staring at the doorway that led into the hall. _Was he…_ It wasn’t his business. He removed that thought from his mind, regardless if it was true or not.

 

* * *

 

“You have your encore piece ready?” Mara’s manager asked her as the makeup artist made her close her eyes to mist some setting spray on her face.

“Bach’s Presto from the first Sonata in G Minor,” she responded, studying herself in the mirror of the dressing room, phone in hand. Mara had changed into a floor-length royal blue dress with spaghetti straps and was tapping her feet on the floor to somehow make her less nervous. Her violin and bow sat on the armchair.

Her manager thanked the makeup artist as she walked out of the dressing room, who returned the favour, returning everything back in its respective bags and quickly left. Mara enjoyed listening to the orchestra playing the first piece through the dressing room’s speakers, nodding her head along to the melody until she felt a vibration in her hand from her phone.

> ` _Mara? It’s Ben. You’re probably performing right now, but there’s something I want to talk to you about…_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 19:34 `

Her heart stopped. _Oh my God. He can’t be referring to—_

Mara heard a knock on her door and opened it to find her manager. “Mara, on stage now.” She patted her shoulder. “Good luck,” she whispered to her, winking.

Grabbing her violin and bow, she entered the hallway and into the doors that led to the back of the stage, ignoring the pounding of her heart in her chest.

Somewhere else in London, Tom was back home, waiting for Benedict’s reply about the girl with the violin. As much as he tried to put off things that didn’t fit his career interests, he figured that he’d make some room this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter has been edited and revised on 19/08/19.**
> 
> For your entertainment, the concert set:
> 
> [Sibelius's Karelia Suite](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gk2azzsCwQo)  
> [Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto in E Minor (the entire thing)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o1dBg__wsuo)  
> [Bach's Presto from Sonata for Violin No. 1 in G Minor [encore]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RIT3Q7psJtk)  
> [Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxyN1GHMatM)


	2. March, 2018: 2

For the next hour, Tom conversed happily with some of Benedict’s other friends that he hasn’t met along with Sophie’s. He always likes getting to know new people. A portion of them, he noticed, were in the theatre scene, mainly as vocal/dialogue coaches, designers, or producers.Sophie continued opening the various gifts that people had given her at the dining table, after clearing it of empty plates and silverware. The second open bottle of champagne sat in the middle.

“This candle smells delightful, Tom,” Sophie gushed, sniffing the candle jar that came from the silver box. “Where did you buy it?” She handed the candle to Benedict, letting him smell the aroma.

Tom combed a hand through his hair. “I… er, I actually made it myself.”

Benedict whipped his head at him. “You did _not—_ did you really?”

He looked sheepish. “…my younger sister mailed me a candle making kit for my birthday. It’s actually a good pastime.”

“There’s no logo or label or anything, so I guess he really did make it,” Sophie’s co-worker spoke up, studying the glass jar in Benedict’s hands.

One of Benedict’s friends, a pianist, spoke up. “Did you mess up beforehand? Won’t be surprised if that was _at least_ the 3rd attempt.”

Tom chuckled. “Does burning yourself with the melted wax count?” He asked, casually showing the raw but healing area on his forearm, shocking the others. “No, but I did mess up. The first one I made was atrocious— I was ashamed to even keep it.” 

Laughter filled the dining room, and Sophie stood up from her chair to walk over to Tom and hug him. Cheeks turning pink, he returned the favour.

“Thank you, Tom— I’m surprised you remembered how much I like candles, so it means a lot!” Sophie complimented, drinking from her glass of fruit juice that Benedict made earlier. Despite giving birth to her youngest last year, she decided not to drink alcohol, including the champagne sitting in front of them, as a precaution. 

Benedict now sat next to Tom, eyeing the patch of raw skin on his exposed forearm. “Are you okay?” he questioned in a slightly worried tone.

“Oh— yeah, I’m completely fine,” Tom dismissed, lightly rubbing the affected area with his thumb. “I mean, at the time, it was _incredibly_ painful. It’s healing, though.”

Benedict rolled his eyes at Tom. “You always sound very nonchalant about getting injured— _oh_ , like the time you got hit in the head with a door—“

“— _What?_ ” Sophie exclaimed, putting her glass down. “You got hit in the head with a _door_?”

“Yes, he did,” Benedict confirmed. “I _swear_ , I thought I told you, Sophie. Did I really not tell you?” He shrugged when she shook her head, and she gestured for Tom to elaborate.

Tom looked sheepish. “It happened _ages_ ago, but yeah, that did indeed happen…” He slowly nodded, getting a bit embarrassed. “It was after I completed performing _Coriolanus_ back in… early 2014, I believe. I leaned over to pick up my bag on the floor, which was _conveniently_ next to the door, and someone had opened it while I had done so.”

_[“Tom? Are you alright?” Benedict asked, noticing that Tom’s head was down on his screen. Tom had voluntarily decided to Skype him from his home, so he wasn’t dressed in anything special. Benedict could see the wide wall of books behind Tom._

_“Yes! Yes, I am,” he replied, hands still at his head. “Sorry about the unsightly view.” Tom’s focus was elsewhere._

_“I only see your forehead. Are you— what are you— are you putting plaster on?”_

_Tom slowly put his head up, and Benedict faced the younger actor, clean shaven and with the little dollop of curly hair on the top of his head, with a medium-sized patch of plaster on his forehead._

_Benedict’s eyes widened. “What the hell_ _happened_ _?” he asked with a pointed tone._

_“Got hit in the head with a door.”_

_Tom flashed a smile at him when Benedict stared at him with a deadpanned expression and pinched the bridge of his nose.]_

Another of Sophie’s friends spoke up. He vaguely recognised her as one of the people in the wardrobe department during his Shakespeare production. “Oh, is that what happened? Is that why you were wearing the, er, th—the plaster on your head afterwards?”

He sighed heavily. “Yeah. I had people asking me left and right _what happened, what happened_ , but I got four stitches, it healed, and I’m fine.” Under the light, one could see the faint evidence of a scar on his forehead.

“Burns himself on wax almost 5 years later,” Benedict wittingly adds, sipping his champagne glass as his eyebrows shot up.

Tom whipped his head at the older actor, looking at him with an exaggerated aghast look, much to the amusement of the other guests. “ _What?_ ” he asked in a warning tone as a joke.

“— _What?_ ” Benedict immediately repeated in an almost mocking tone, eyebrows raised at the bespectacled man. Tom’s eyes, which looked blue because of his shirt, and Benedict’s eyes, which looked almost green under the ceiling light, locked, but they both turned away and burst out laughing, which was contagious enough to make everyone else laugh.

 

* * *

 

Tom was one of the first people to leave (besides Mara), as much as he wanted to spend time with Benedict and the other guests at the dinner party. He was _extremely_ tired, tired enough to probably pass out (and not because of the alcohol). Despite feeling selfish for leaving, Sophie reassured him that it was completely fine.

_[“Prioritise your health,” Sophie told Tom, putting out the currently-lit candle on the island counter. “I also told, er, another friend of mine that I have birthdays every year, so if I have another one in the future, you’re free to go to that as well. I hope you feel better by that time, though..”_

_Tom was still a bit reluctant. “Thank you, but are you sure? I would hate to leave so early. Maybe I could stay a bit longer—”_

_“—until you pass out at the table? I’d like to save you the embarrassment.” Sophie retorted, and Tom chuckled. “How much sleep did you get last night?”_

_“…two. My bed was less comfortable than usual. The amount of tea—_ _caffeine_ _I consumed earlier to stay awake—“_

_“Get some sleep,” Sophie sternly told him._

_Tom practically had no willpower at this point to argue with his best friend’s wife. “You know, I’m really sorry…”]_

But when he arrived home, he practically forgot how tired he was. He paced around his loft, remembering what happened earlier. Speaking with _everyone_ at the party, giving them his full attention… listening to her play the violin. He was curious, now.

Tom debated as soon as he opened iMessage. How much of a nutter would he come off as if he texted Benedict about Mara? 

_Hey, how well do you know the pretty woman with the violin? Even though I spoke to her for barely an hour?_ Tom shook his head— he had just met her, who knows if she’ll be less than desirable the more he converses with her?

Then he regretted _that_ thought. It’s not becoming of him to jump to conclusions like that, but based on his most recent relationships (rumoured or not), he didn’t think it would be a good idea to be with someone merely for the sake of publicity… or for other less desirable reasons.

…he still texted Benedict.

> ` _Hey Ben, can I ask you a question?_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 19:18 `

> ` _…yes. Did you forget your wallet at my house?_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 19:20 `` `

> ` _No._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 19:20 `

Tom subconsciously put a hand on his back pocket, finding it occupied.

> ` _…I know you’re doubting me, Ben._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 19:21 `

> ` _I did, but now I’m not. What did you want to ask?_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 19:22 `

Tom’s hands had a bit of a tremor as he typed, deleting and re-typing a few times in order to make the question clear enough but not making him sound like a lunatic. 

> ` _It’s about that one woman I talked to earlier, at Sophie’s party. Mara. She seems familiar to me._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 19:26 `` `

He realised it was too late the moment he pressed send, because Benedict instantly started typing. Tom eyed the little thought bubble with an ellipsis, his heart beating faster. _She seems familiar— No, she obviously doesn’t?!_ He believes that he hasn’t met anyone like her before, which wasn’t a bad thing, but to outright lie about her— to their _mutual friend_ , of all people— Tom was ready to throw his phone out of the window.

Tom placed his phone screen-down on the couch next to him, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face with his hands. He was waiting for Benedict to reply something along the lines of _What the fuck?_

His phone vibrated.

> ` _Does she? Since when were you into classical music?_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 19:27 `` `

Tom blinked, briefly confused as to what Benedict meant by that. He sighed heavily, disregarding it. _I better get this over with_.

> ` _…I’m not too crazy about it, which I’m sure you know about. But I feel as if I might’ve… met her before? I’m trying to remember what she looks like…_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 19:29 `

It was definitely too late to surrender.

> ` _Have you? I can send you a picture and see if your memory comes back._ `
> 
> `_With her permission of course._`
> 
> ` Delivered at 19:30 `

He froze. _That— that wasn’t the plan… at_ _ all. _

Tom found himself typing ‘sure’ before he actually comprehended what he was doing.

 

* * *

 

Mara stepped out of her car, still wearing her performance attire under her wool coat. Carrying her violin case and music bag, she stepped over to the front door of her home, her heels clicking against the ground. The front door opened and she found her rather cosy home as she left it— currently in a shambles. She threw her music bag on the floor next to her shoe shelf, stepping out of her heels.

She opened the coat closet door, hanging her coat up with the rest of her outerwear. Mara was about to close the door until she remembered about her phone in the front pocket. And the text that Benedict sent her right before she went on stage. Fishing the pocket for her phone, she quickly answered.

> ` _yeah, I was performing when you texted me…_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 21:10 `

> ` _I’m sorry about that. It’s not like you would have picked up anyway, what was I thinking?_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 21:16 `

> ` _lol_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 21:18 `` `

> ` _Anyway, I wanted to ask if you had a programme from your concert earlier tonight?_ ` _  
> _
> 
> ` Delivered at 21:21 `

Mara stared at her phone screen, merely blinking. _That’s all he wanted to ask?_ Her heartbeat was increasing again. … _Why the hell are you freaking out?! He’s just asking for a programme, you weirdo._ She ignored her other predictions as to what Benedict would have asked or mentioned.

She had to admit that she wasn’t as close to Benedict as she was to Sophie, but Mara found no reason to pretend that the man _didn’t_ exist and _wasn’t_ making her nervous (in a purely platonic way).

> ` _…It’s for Sophie._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 21:22 `

That eased her a bit.

> ` _She’s bummed that she couldn’t attend, but she would at least like the programme to remember today._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 21:22 `

> ` _of course! I always ask for 2 copies of the program anyway lol so do you want me to come over again to give it to you/her?_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 21:25 `

> ` _No! It’s fine, you must be exhausted. I’ll stop by your house. Sophie would but she’s taking care of our youngest.._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 21:26 `

> ` _sweet alright. fair warning, I’m gonna be using a clay mask._ ` _  
> _
> 
> ` Delivered at 21:27 `

Mara felt at least 5 kilos lighter when she took off her makeup, and for the remainder of the night she prepped her skin and hung her dress up in the closet. Changing into a striped sweater with cotton leggings, she was quite relaxed as she tidied her foyer up a bit. Then, knocking.

“I’ll get that,” Mara announced, grabbing the programme booklet from her music bag that still sat next to her shoe shelf. It was Ben, still in his semi-formal apparel.

He briefly got startled by seeing Mara with the mask and started laughing. “I completely forgot.”

“I gave you a warning!” Mara responded, laughing along with him. She handed the programme over to him, who easily took it. He studied its cover, which made her raise a brow.

Benedict started chuckling, but he was attempting to suppress it.

“What?” She questioned, eyes widening. “Do I look menacing or something?”

“No,” Benedict confessed, and Mara sighed in relief. “Sophie said you hated that [dress](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/182851009568/pre-fall-2015-carolina-herrera-the-green-dress) though. It’s quite ironic.” He held up the programme, and Mara suddenly faced the picture of herself, wearing a strapless emerald green dress that flared out and touched the floor. She had her violin in her arms and wasn’t smiling in the slightest.

“You said I _didn’t_ look menacing!” Mara said in an accusatory tone. “And… to address the, um, the _dress_ … it’s not that I hate it, it’s just… I feel like it deserves to be worn for a better occasion than some photo shoot, or for only one concert and left to get dusty in my closet— which, now that I think about it, is happening right now… You know what I mean?”

“I see… so was it an impulsive purchase?”

“…maybe. Carolina Herrera. Besides, that’s an old picture from… 2015, I think? When I still lived in the States.” Mara chuckled. “I guess my new pictures weren’t something they were fond of.”

She briefly remembered the small promotional photoshoot back in January of this year during her break, wearing a black velvet floor length gown with long mesh sleeves. As always, her violin was in her arms. Mara initially decided not to hem the dress, since she liked how it flowed behind her, but quickly regretted that decision when she almost tripped on the fabric.

“ _Anyway_ ,” she continued, attempting to shove that memory in the back of her head. “It’s alright, though. Did Sophie open my gift?”

“The red silk scarf? She’s absolutely in love with it— _she_ says ‘thank you’, by the way.” Mara beamed at him.

“Oh, do tell her that it’s no problem. I bought it for her while I was in Oslo— it’s a shame I can’t remember the designer, but I believe they were a local brand. I would’ve given it to her anyway, even if I didn’t show up tonight.”

Benedict chuckled. “Will do.” He said ‘goodbye’ to the shorter woman, turning away to go down the steps, but he froze as she began closing the front door. He remembered what he was going to do.

“Wait— Mara!” he called out, and she abruptly opened the door again.

“Yes?”

“Er… can I ask you something?”

She blinked at him, hoping any signs of anxiety weren’t evident on her clay-clad face. The predictions were coming back.

“Sure. What do you wanna ask?”

“So,” Benedict started, looking sheepish. “Er… one of the guests at the party thought you looked familiar to them. They asked me about you, and I was wondering if I could help confirm their suspicions by sending a picture of you…?”

_Who? …don't jump to conclusions. Don’t jump to conclusions. Don’t! Jump! To! Conclusions!_ “Uh, _yeah_ ,” Mara said, snorting, but also hiding her growing nervousness. “Of course. That’s not really something you need to ask my permission for. Well, to me, at least.”

Benedict put up his hands in surrender. “Just checking, just checking. We’re neighbours _and_ friends, so I thought it would be really weird if I sent some of the pictures with you and Sophie and me without you knowing the reason. Like backstabbing in a way— or like I’m conspiring against you.”

“I’m only considering it to be backstabbing if you send any pictures where I don’t look photogenic. Like that picture with me and the Carolina Herrera dress.”

Benedict rolled his eyes. “Be quiet.”

“Just saying!” Mara told him, laughing. She hid a yawn behind her hand. “…you predicted well— I’m _mad_ tired. Good night, Ben.”

The older actor waved at her goodbye and walked back in the direction of his and Sophie’s home. Mara shut the door, feeling the sudden influx of the cold breeze. She didn’t notice how much her heartbeat increased between now and when Benedict asked her _that_ question.

_Calm down, Mara. Calm down. I mean, it must’ve been someone I talked to earlier—_

Her conscience spoke for her. _Oooh, maybe it’s Tom! The ridiculously handsome guy with the beard!_

Mara pinched the bridge of her nose. _And why would he ask about me? He would probably want and care about someone of his calibre, perhaps some famous actress or model. Wait, isn’t this guy extremely intelligent? He probably wants someone with a brain, too. Who was he rumoured to be with, again?_

She groaned, facepalming, before realising that her mask was dry against her skin. Feeling the texture, Mara sauntered to her bedroom upstairs and to her bathroom where she washed it off and continued the rest of her skincare routine. Her thoughts went on without her consent.

_He’s a world-famous actor. Loads of people know who he is— screaming his name at film premieres and what not. If someone tried screaming for my name post-performance, they’d get kicked out of the venue. No one beyond the classical music scene seems to know who I am and the anonymity in the general public is totally fine._

Mara placed her serum bottle down— _slammed_ it on her vanity a little harshly, suddenly irritated by her thoughts.

_You can’t be serious! There’s no way in hell you would work with someone like Tom— what are you thinking?! He’ll just be another statistic on your list of “cool-people-you-have-met-once-and-never-saw-again”. He’s an actor, you’re a musician. Completely different environments. You do_ _not_ _need anyone filling any gaps in your life right now— you’re fine. You’re always away from home, anyway. You have the music. That’s all that matters, and nothing more. Not him, not anyone else you’ve met or will meet. Nothing. No one._

Yet she couldn’t ignore the growing dread inside of her, stemming from denial.

* * *

 

Benedict had almost forgotten to send Tom the picture when he got home. Yet, when he went onto that, it was to his dismay that he _couldn’t_ find any. Not that he _hadn’t_ taken pictures with Mara before— he obviously remembered a couple of times where she joined some with him and Sophie— but they weren’t in his phone’s photo album at all.

“Damn, I must’ve deleted them,” Benedict cursed, pinching the bridge of his nose. _And it must have been_ _over_ _30 days, too._

He _could_ find a picture of her on Google, but he felt weird searching up his neighbour on the internet and just using some random picture that linked back to her Instagram or whatever. He doesn’t even use social media, anyway.

Walking down the hall to speak with Sophie, he glanced down in his hand to find the programme. 

> _Philharmonia Orchestra ... with {principal conductor/artistic advisor} Esa-Pekka Salonen and {guest soloist} Mara Blanchard (pictured). 16th of March, 2018 || Royal Festival Hall || London, UK._

Mara, 3 years younger, stared back at him with a stoic look. Her hair was longer— at her waist, but everything else was fairly similar, except her violin, which looked off to Benedict but he couldn’t exactly tell why. Something else clicked.

“I really could just send a picture of this,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. Benedict hastily flipped through the small booklet, finding pages with thorough descriptions of each of the pieces played and brief biographies of key people in the concert (which included Mara, of course, but he already knew all the information of her page from her personally).

Taking a quick photo of the cover, he sent it to Tom.

> ` _So… Tom, turns out I accidentally deleted all the pictures I have with her on my phone. HOWEVER— however, she gave Sophie a programme from her performance earlier tonight, so I’ll just send you a picture of the cover._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 21:59 `

> ` _…then why do you have it?_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 22:01 `

> `(unamused emoji) _I went to go get it from her. Sophie was nursing._`
> 
> `(Attachment: 1 image)`
> 
> ` Delivered at 22:02 `

He lightly knocked on the open door. “Sophie, I got the programme,” Benedict announced in a quieter voice than usual, since he was walking into the baby room, where Sophie was currently sending her eldest son to sleep. She flashed a tired smile at him.

 

* * *

 

Tom had already changed into his sleepwear, a white shirt with black joggers. He was in the midst of cleaning his glasses with a handkerchief when he heard his phone vibrate on his dresser. Placing his glasses on the nightstand drawer with the handkerchief, he walked over to the phone to lazily pick it up to find another text from Benedict. His eyes widened when he opened it.

The first thing Tom observed from the picture was how long her hair was in the photo compared to when he met her earlier. Her makeup was toned down, only what seemed to be dusty rose-coloured matte lipstick, mascara, and eyeliner. The green dress she wore had blue and white accents, almost like smeared paint that was attempted to be cleaned. Mara wasn’t smiling or anything like it was some sort of passport photo where one couldn’t smile anyway, but Tom thought she was physically _flawless_.

He ignored the little flutter in his abdomen as he kept staring at the picture, but it started to disappear when he noticed the violin in her arms. The wood wasn’t as grainy, and the varnish colour was a deeper red and applied with much more uniformity on the instrument. The silk windings at the end were also a yellow/gold colour with a black spiral, not the mere purple he observed on the one he held. 

It was a no-brainer to Tom that she had a different violin, but he didn’t know why, and it’s not like he would ever get the chance to ask her (if she didn’t mind that time).

 

* * *

 

For the next few days, Tom progressively re-fixed his sleep schedule and completed various errands as he started getting more information about the promotional tour for _Infinity War_.

_[“You’ll be here in London on the 8th next month,” his agent told him through Skype, apparently reading off of his laptop. “Press screening.”_

_“Ah, I see,” Tom acknowledged. On his end, he was currently making lunch and had his laptop conveniently placed on the kitchen counter, near enough to get Tom in the camera but far enough from the stove to not catch fire. “And then… South Korea?”_

_“Seoul, yes.” Tom started adding pinches of seasoning on the pan. “On the 12th. When April actually comes around, I’ll start giving you more info for the ones closer to the end of the month.”]_

He had completely forgotten about last Friday until he decided to light one of the new candles he made. Standing in his kitchen, smelling the lavender from the candle, and eating the dinner he made for himself on a whim, pizza with rosemary and potato, he opened his phone and the picture he received from Benedict a week ago.

“Mara Blanchard…” he read on the programme, lost in thought. 

Tom first searched up the Philharmonia Orchestra, which was apparently the ensemble she played with earlier. There were various professionally-taken photos of the ensemble performing at the Royal Festival Hall, some of them with special emphasis on the conductor or concertmaster. The credentials seemed to impress him— they’ve won a couple of Grammy Awards and have made their mark in the classical music scene in the city.

[ _“ For us, our music offers you an opportunity to escape… there [in the hall] to be thrilled, inspired, even challenged by what you see and hear, or simply to think, reflect, and be entertained…,”_ Maestro Salonen, the conductor of the ensemble, described in the promotional video. _“What we do is for everyone.”_ ] 

He had to agree, despite regretting to say that he didn’t know who this man was. _He seems like a rather knowledgeable person— I can’t blame her for working with him._

On a whim, he decided to search up Mara, but his hands faltered. _What makes you think you’ll find anything? It’s not like she’s famous or anything._ He was expecting to only find a few links directing to social media pages and what not, but not anything significant.

…he was wrong. _Absolutely_ wrong. Tom felt ashamed he even made that assumption. 

> _Mara Blanchard is an American violinist. As the first prize winner in the International Yehudi Menuhin Violin Competition at age 18 in April of 2010, her career was started by her success there. Since then, she has performed throughout the world as a soloist with leading orchestras and conductors._

Tom bit his lower lip, more curious than ever. Going to the images tab, he was practically bombarded with different pictures of the same woman, most of them with her holding a violin. The same picture, with her and the green dress, showed up but without any text. There were other images of her mid-playing, intensely focused, in places from large concert halls to what looked like gardens. Photos of her with straight hair, curled hair, longer hair, the hair she has now, either wearing all black or her vibrantly coloured gowns. 

One picture, in particular, stood out to him. It was Mara, wearing a red velvet sleeveless floor-length gown, except that she looked years younger. She was in the middle of playing, almost looking bored, and when Tom tapped on it he found out that it was a thumbnail for a video _from_ the competition that she apparently won 8 years ago. Tom’s heart was pounding in his chest as he hesitantly started watching it.

She— _her playing_ was beautiful, to say the least. Tom would admit that classical music is not his cup of tea (nor did he know too much about it), but he didn't outright hate it or anything. She was in front of the whole orchestra playing [a piece](https://youtu.be/8HZVQyD9rsY?t=1348) he’s never heard of, but Tom could hear all of her own emotions pouring into the music as the older cor anglais player’s own part seemed to accompany her own solo. Every movement of hers was done with grace— her brows never furrowed once and she looked more relaxed than ever, more than other violinists that he’s seen before. There weren’t any mistakes in the slightest— her playing was immaculate. Every passage in the movement had their own story to tell, and she seamlessly weaved them together to play something so dauntingly mesmerising.

Tom had to stop watching and put his phone screen-down on the counter. _No._ _No._ _This is weird. I barely acquainted myself with her last week— one click away and I know her whole life story. This has to be some form of stalking, almost. Mara never even mentioned about the competition— she doesn’t know that_ _I_ _know, how much of a lunatic would I look like if I mentioned that to her if I met her again?!_

He scoffed to himself. _I won’t meet her again. I_ _shouldn’t_ _, anyway. What I did was creepy. I don’t deserve to see her at all after what I just did._ Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, before attempting to clear his thoughts and deleting Benedict’s texts from his phone to not distract him any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter has been edited and revised on 19/08/19.**
> 
> Edit: The first time I uploaded this, I used the 2012 Menuhin Competition in Beijing (since the actual winner was American, like Mara) and hoped to take a few creative liberties with this. Realising that this event did _not_ align well with my current story outline, I changed it to the 2010 Menuhin Competition held in Oslo. I thought it worked better imo, since Mara would've been around 18-19 when she won, really standing out to Tom that she was... _quite_ young when she did all of this. Really makes one think, huh?


	3. March, 2018: 3

“When did you say the press screening was, again?” Sophie asked as she sipped some of her earl grey tea.

Benedict and Sophie were currently having breakfast in their dining room, silverware clinking on plates as they both ate the apple buckwheat pancakes that Benedict decided to make (it was originally for him only, but Sophie was hungrier than usual that morning and couldn’t resist).

Sophie blankly stared at her husband as he started eating the apple wedges on the side of his small pancake stack. He froze, feeling the weight of Sophie’s stare on him. “Sorry— what?”

She stifled her laughter. “When is the press screening for _Infinity War_? The one here in London?”

“Oh!” Benedict cleared his throat. “On the 8th of April. Sunday.”

“Sunday, Sunday...” Sophie muttered, cutting her pancake into 4 equal portions. “Er... I _might_ have a meeting with a few directors that day. I know you wanted me to come with you to the screening—”

Benedict raised a brow. “How come?”

“Well, I got a call from one of the directors earlier this week about the possibility of serving as the main director for an upcoming opera production...”

“Really?” he asked, interested. “That’s wonderful to hear! Which, er… which opera?”

Sophie sighed heavily. “ _That’s_ what we were going to discuss. I would serve as director for _an_ opera production, we just don’t have a clue as to which one.” She gave Benedict a sheepish look.

“I just realised— you’ve directed a fair amount of operas recently…”

Her eyes widened. “Goodness, you’re right, I have.” Sophie continued to eat. “I sort of miss solely directing a theatre production.”

“So, are you actually going to go through with it? If you do, obviously you don’t have to show up with me at the event that day.”

She pondered that for a bit, eyebrows creasing. “About that… erm, I’m not sure. You _know_ how I feel about being away from the boys for long hours in the week—“

“—right, and I’m also going to go on the promotional tour for _Infinity War_ —“

“—yes, and I know you can’t bring them with you everywhere. However, _I’m_ bringing them when we meet up in Los Angeles for the world premiere.” Sophie suddenly looked unsure. “Perhaps… I can just go to the meeting, and hopefully, find some leeway in the matter if I bring it up.”

Benedict looked hesitant to continue. “…you _could_ take them to someone. When Mum texted me that she sent Hal’s birthday gift a few weeks ago, she also sent a text asking when she could see him and his brother.”

“I don’t want her to have that responsibility of babysitting the boys constantly— she’s almost as busy as we are.”

“Sophie, she absolutely adores them. I don’t think she’ll find them to be a burden or anything.” When Sophie narrowed her eyes at him, he gave her a stern look in return. “Unless you’d like to ask a friend— _neighbour_ —“

Sophie suddenly became quiet, and Benedict’s eyes widened as he rejected that idea. “I— _no_ , she should still be in Warsaw around that time, so she’s out of the question. She’s _also_ busy, by the way.”

Biting her lower lip, she relented. “…I still want to go to the screening with you, though.” Benedict reached out to hold her hand, and Sophie gave him a small smile.

“So… will the meeting be a no-go?”

“I… I’ll have a talk with the other director later today on the phone. Either way, if I go to the meeting or to the press screening with you, we’ll just have to call your mother. I don’t have other options.”

 

* * *

 

The only things that could be heard in Mara’s bedroom were the rather faint sound of air being exerted from the dehumidifier and the sound of her light snores as she slept. She was splayed across the bed, brown hair messy, and tightly clutching her duvet. Light from outside started to creep in through the curtains. A stack of urtext music books sat on the walnut-coloured hardwood floor, next to her bed.

_…bzzz bzzz_

_…bzzz bzzz_

_…bzzz bzzz_

Her phone vibrated on her nightstand for the next 10 minutes, before the sound of text messages sounded with a few _ping!_ s.

> `_Mara! It's Naomi._ (grinning squinting emoji)`
> 
> ` _You’re most likely asleep since you haven’t picked up your phone yet… but remember that you’re heading to Heathrow Airport for your flight to Warsaw later at 2 PM._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 7:42 `

Mara was still fast asleep, bare feet now exposed from the wrapping of her duvet. She subconsciously curled up into the foetal position.

> ` _When we arrive at the hotel (because I’m staying at the same hotel as you), I’ll drop off my belongings and head over to the venue that you’ll be performing in tomorrow night to finalise a few things. With that being said, you’re free to do whatever you’d like in Warsaw. Obviously, don’t tire yourself out. You’ve got a concert to perform._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 7:44 `

At _7:45_ , her _radar_ alarm went off at full volume as her phone simultaneously vibrated on the nightstand, and Mara’s eyes shot open at the abrupt sound. Her upturned eyes quickly shut in pain due to the forced opening and she rubbed them, turning her eye contour slightly red. If anything, her eyesight was, even more, blurrier than usual. Sitting up, she blindly patted the nightstand to her right in hopes of finding the familiar feeling of her glasses. As she put her half-rimmed glasses on, Mara grabbed her phone and her eyes widened.

_Oh God, Naomi…_ Mara felt terrible for not answering her so soon.

> `_thank you so much for reminding me, Naomi! sorry for the late reply, I was indeed sleeping. I’ll head over to Heathrow when it’s time. do you know if I have to do any promotional business while I’m there?_ (frowning open-mouthed emoji)`
> 
> ` Delivered at 7:49 `

It didn’t take long for her manager to find her reply.

> ` _Oh good, you’re finally awake! To answer your question… I actually just got contacted by a radio station from Warsaw and they proposed for you to be a guest on the podcast series that they created. They must’ve known that you were flying over to Poland for two weeks._ `
> 
> `_The podcasts cater specifically for a variety of music weekly, but on the day they’d like for you to be there, their focus that week is on classical._`
> 
> ` Delivered at 7:50 `

> ` _oooo, I’d love to! I don’t think I’ve ever been asked to be a guest on a podcast, so why not?_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 7:53 `

` `

> ` _That’s great to hear! I’ll get in touch with them now. You’ll most likely guest star with another musician since that’s kind of their trope. Also, playing with them!_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 7:54 `

Mara smirked before yawning, rubbing her eyes again, and putting her phone in the pocket of her red plaid pyjama pants. Since she was wearing a black tank top, her arms were exposed and even with the heater on, goosebumps still appeared on her skin and she absentmindedly rubbed her arms as she walked downstairs and through her hallway.

The walls of the hallway had few framed minimalistic paintings, and Mara studied one of an orchid flower briefly before realising that the painting was crooked. Fixing the frame to make it even, she left to go to the kitchen.

All of a sudden, Mara felt a sharp pain at her foot and heard a _thud_ coming from the wooden leg of the dining table, and she let out a short scream before shutting up. _The district might as well think you’re getting murdered, my God._

She stubbed her toe against the table. “ _Fuck!_ ” Mara cried out, grabbing her foot. The area was slightly red, but she sucked her pain up and continued walking— _limping_ to the cabinet where she stored her pots, pans, and her kettle. Crouching down, Mara took out the kettle and put it on the marble counter. Opening the overhead cabinet, she tried to grab the container of tea bags from their usual spot but ended up grabbing the suspiciously light box.

Mara looked down at her hand— the box was _empty_. A little portion of her died inside. She really _was_ in the mood for black tea this morning. On her tiptoes, she craned her neck to look into the cabinet to find nothing else. A brief visit to the fridge and she found absolutely nothing she could use to make chai, ginseng, or _anything else_ tea as a replacement.

Briefly whining in indignation, she had no choice but to throw the box away and put the kettle back. _I guess I better have coffee instead_. Mara rolled her eyes. Her coffee consumption dramatically declined when she moved to the UK, but it didn’t kill her to have a cup every now and then. 

Besides, the coffee tasted better where she is now rather than back home in America… a claim that might be challenged by her own folks.

As she grabbed a measuring cup from her glass cupboard to fill with water, she stared at the pictures that were attached to the fridge with magnets. In one, an 8-year-old Mara was blowing bubbles, long hair frizzy due to the humidity. In another, her aged parents stared back at her with warm smiles, her father sitting on a stool with a navy blue knit sweater and slacks as her mother stood, holding her husband’s shoulder as she wore a red V-neck sweater with black dress pants. Right under was a note from her father.

> _Dearest Mara, even if you’re about 3,280 miles away from us (yes, we calculated it!), your love, dedication, and success to the art we nurtured from a young age compensate for the distance. We hope that 2017 will be a more prosperous year for you, and you will be on your way to accomplish the lifelong ambitions that you have held onto for so long. Much love, Dad & Mom_

Mara’s heart sunk. Her father sent the picture around Christmas time back in 2016, knowing that that year was the best and _worst_ for her, based on the frequent Skype calls after orchestra rehearsals…

_[“Do you want to talk about it?” her father questioned, a pained look on his face as he wore his reading glasses. He put down the paperwork he was filling out. “Your mother is at work right now—“_

_Mara sniffled. “No… I— I think I just need to go around a bit.” She wrapped the lilac coloured blanket around herself tighter.]_

Inhaling sharply, she shoved the memory in the back of her head as she filled the measuring cup with water to pour into her coffee maker. Opening the cupboard next to the ‘tea’ cupboard to get coffee grounds, Mara was absolutely floored to find practically empty bags with nowhere near the right amount to make an actual cup of coffee.

“Are you actually… _ugh_.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, groaning. _I literally just went to Whole Foods last week_. Even though there were other _non-American based_ supermarkets near the district, Mara still felt a little bit at home when she did her grocery shopping there.

_[“The 20-minute ride there is worth it… to me, at least,” Mara confessed, nonchalantly shrugging._

_Sophie raised a brow at her, sipping her tea. Her only son, at the time, was playing on the floor next to them as the two women sat in the living room. “To feel like you’re still in America? What a devoted citizen you are.”_

_“…devoted citizen is a bit bold, especially during_ _this_ _time,” Mara meekly told the older woman, absentmindedly tapping her teacup. “I’m just picky.”]_

“Okay, you know what?” Mara asked herself out loud, walking around her house to water her houseplants rather than wasting the water by making it go down the drain. “I’ll just buy some coffee. I don’t want to deal with this right now.”

After putting the measuring cup in the sink, she went upstairs to go change into a black knit sweater and cotton leggings, along with putting contacts on. Mara put on her white leather sneakers and opened the front door, immediately feeling _cold_ rushing into her house, and she abruptly shut it, shaking her head. Walking over to her coat closet, she grabbed a red lightweight puffer jacket and her grey knit infinity scarf and donned both on. Mara tied up her hair in a rather messy bun, little strands of her wavy hair sticking out.

Grabbing her house keys from the ceramic bowl, she looked at the time on her phone. _8:27_

Mara decided that she had enough time to walk to a coffee shop… to a Starbucks, of all places. Sophie would be scolding her for having _only_ coffee in the morning, but Mara was somehow dying to get something familiar to ease any growing bouts of homesickness.

 

* * *

 

Filling up the stainless steel bowl, Tom called out to the little spaniel, who calmly laid himself down on the couch in the living room. It was connected to the kitchen and the formal dining room. A few moments after he called Bobby’s name, Tom was about to go back into the living room to get him when he heard the little patter of his feet and found his dog quickly heading over to him.  
****

“Hey, _hey_ ,” Tom gushed, situating himself on his knees. He had to do a fair amount of turning as Bobby circled him, clearly excited. “You’ve got to eat first. Come on, come on.” 

Standing up, Tom gestured for him to eat from the bowl he just filled, and without question, the spaniel hurriedly treaded over and sniffed the bowl before eating. While Bobby was doing so, Tom opened up a drawer in his kitchen to get his leash. He planned to give him a walk this morning around the area, and afterwards drop him off to go out for a quick run since Bobby wasn’t old enough to start running long distances with him.

Tom went upstairs to the bathroom that connected to his bedroom and stared at himself in the mirror. He was already wearing his glasses, and since the errands weren’t anything special he decided _not_ to take them off. After fixing his hair and trimming his beard, he opened his closet doors to grab a black hooded sweatshirt and a light grey scarf. Walking away, Tom suddenly froze and went back to get a short coat to layer himself, knowing that this time of year was still quite cold. He didn't hesitate to grab the black baseball cap that was hanging on a hook next to his closet.

He was hastily putting it on as he walked downstairs, and he could already hear Bobby starting to head towards him since the patter of his feet progressively got louder. At this point, Tom had a feeling that Bobby knew when they were going out for walks, especially when Tom brings out his leash and has to put on a few layers. He went back in the kitchen to grab Bobby’s leash and put it on him, before petting him.

They were eventually out in the front, Tom locking the door behind him, and started to go in their usual route, which Tom noticed started shifting more to the right as he kept walking Bobby. As he and Bobby reached a pelican crossing, he pressed the button and waited, staring ahead. In his peripheral view, he could see an older blonde woman with a canvas tote on his right and a shorter woman with a red jacket on his left, but ignored the rest of his surroundings to only watch for the electronic signal with the walking green person.

A small gasp. 

“That’s a wicked cute dog you got there, sir.”

Realising that the _American_ voice was talking to him— _Probably a tourist…_ Tom turned to his left to say ‘thank you’ when he froze, his thought process coming to a halt. The hand that held onto Bobby’s leash tightened. His breath hitched.

He was surprised that he didn’t recognise her voice. The short woman with the violin— actually, she didn’t have her violin nor the case itself with her— with her hair up, was looking right up at him and had a small smile on her face. A Starbucks cup was in her hands, pale from the cold weather. It took her a few seconds of staring at Tom’s face under the baseball cap to realise who Mara was talking to and her pupils dilated, and her mouth opened in shock.

“ _You!_ ” she unintentionally hissed at him before shutting up. “I— I didn’t mean to say it like that, but, _uh_ … hey.” Mara had an abashed look on her face, her cheeks turning pinker than they already were in the cold.

Tom blinked at her, his brain scrambling to find the right words. “Hi,” he merely responded, his tone sounding a lot more airy than usual. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.” _…_ _what_ _did I just say? I sound like I’m longing for her!_

His conscience invaded his thoughts. _Well… you did try speaking with Ben about her… and you searched her up…_

Tom was ready to give his own conscience a lecture afterwards.

“Oh, no, me neither,” Mara agreed, smiling at him again. Tom was relieved that she didn’t think any more of his words. “It’s been… what, 2 weeks since I met you?”

“Er— I’d say almost three.” _Wow, how rude do I sound right now?_ Tom had an appalled look on his face. “I’m _so_ sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so corrective—”

Mara chuckled. “No! No, it’s alright— you’re not wrong. ’Almost three’ it is, then.” Glancing to see that the electronic signal was still red, she looked down at the little brown spaniel. “Seriously, he’s absolutely adorable— you’re so lucky to have him. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s his name?”

Tom flashed a nervous grin at her, and Mara suddenly felt warm inside. She sipped some of her coffee. “I— thank you. His name is Bobby.”

Her whole face lit up at this revelation, and he thought that she looked even prettier than he thought she already was. Tom hoped she didn’t notice how his cheeks and ears turned pink. “Bobby? That’s such a cute name! It’s fitting.”

“A cute name for a cute dog.” He glanced down and tried to get Bobby’s attention, who was currently trying to move ahead. “Hey— look, Mara here—“ Bobby was now staring up at both of them, his tail wagging. “ —thinks you’re _really_ adorable, and I wholeheartedly agree with her.” 

Mara started laughing, and Tom was silently pleased with himself for making her laugh. The signal turned green, and they, along with everyone else waiting, started to walk in the same direction. Mara was slightly ahead of Tom, and he suddenly realised how short she was compared to him.

…he didn’t realise that he vocalised his thoughts aloud, and she stared at him wide-eyed. He was about to profusely apologise, but she put up a calm hand.

“It’s fine,” Mara reassured him, amused. “Well, I _was_ wearing heels when you met me. I’m sorry I’m a bit shorter today.” Tom didn’t want to admit that his focus was predominantly on her face— _their conversation_ and not at the fact that she decided to make herself a few inches taller that night.

“How tall are you?” Tom asked, thinking afterwards that this was probably a redundant question.

She thought about it for a few seconds, apparently not minding. “Uh… the last time I measured myself, I was 5’5”—“ Mara abruptly paused. “— _wait_ , this is England, um… 165 centimetres…?”

Tom was looking down at Bobby, noticing his tendency to walk at an angle, but still listening to her. “We _do_ use feet and inches for height here too— 6'2"… 188 centimetres.”

Mara was genuinely surprised, her eyes widening. “…you’re _huge_.” Tom sharply inhaled as he whipped his head at her, suddenly attempting to disperse any thoughts of _different interpretations of her statement._ It didn’t help that she didn’t react any differently, sipping her coffee as she just stared up at him with her upturned eyes that matched the colour of her hair, something that Tom noticed.

“I— sorry, I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Mara commented, sounding nonchalant. “Everyone I meet is practically taller than me anyway.” At this, Tom couldn’t help but laugh.

“I take it that you _like_ wearing heels, then?”

Again, Mara started becoming more confident in his presence. “Of course! I get that ‘strong, independent woman’ vibe especially from stilettos, you know? Gotta embrace that, somehow.”

Tom suddenly wondered if it _was_ a good idea to pursue her. _She seems really content with herself right now…_ He didn’t want to take her out of her comfort zone.

When Mara asked him a question, he was snapped out of his thoughts. “Do you ever feel that way, perhaps when wearing things that _you know_ you look good in?”

“Of course,” Tom responded without hesitation. “I probably don’t feel like a _strong, independent woman_ , like you do—“ Mara stifled her laughter. “—but it’s certainly an excellent booster for the ego.”

“Yeah, I’ve _seen_ those red carpet pictures, it radiates off of you.” She froze. “I— not like I _deliberately_ found them, I see them being posted on Twitter… _dear God_ , feel free to run away from me _now_.” Feeling a sudden breeze, Mara put her scarf up to hide her nose and mouth (really, the lower half of her face), but also to hide how flustered she had become.

Tom chuckled, feeling at ease as he remembered the night _he_ searched her up, but paradoxically worried at the notion that _she_ searched him up. _Imagine what she found! There are_ _a lot_ _of things that might raise a few red flags to her…_

Looking down at Bobby again to check on him, Tom decided to change the subject, which was something that Mara was relieved by. “Do you have a dog right now?”

“No, I do _not_ have a dog right now, or any other animal for that matter,” Mara admitted, eyebrows creasing. “I’m always away from home for weeks because of my performances, and as much as I’d love to have one and bring with me to different countries, some places may not be so flexible.”

“Oh, I understand what you mean,” Tom responded, looking down at Mara. “You might not even be allowed to bring your dog in buildings, perhaps hotels or concert venues, in your case.” He briefly glanced to his right to find someone watching them, holding up a camera, and Tom sighed heavily.  _Dear God..._

To him, apparently, she didn't seem to notice the paparazzo at all. “Right, right,” she agreed, not realising how much closer she moved next to Tom. He made no effort to create space between them because he didn’t mind at all. “If you’ve got any projects where you would have to travel, would you bring your dog?”

Tom pondered that for a bit. “If I’m supposed to be away for a few weeks, maybe months if necessary, then yes, of course. Bobby would have to stay in my trailer, given that I _have_ one since I don’t think it would be good for him to be away from me for so long if I didn’t bring him.”

“However,” Tom continued. “When I’m only supposed to be gone for only an hour or shorter, I’ve been ‘building up’ his tolerance for my absence while I run quick errands, but for anything a bit longer, perhaps a day or two, I would just take him to a close friend.”

“Mm, I see,” Mara said, nodding. “I know separation anxiety is a huge issue for some dogs—“

“—yes, that’s what I was worried about with Bobby—“ Tom glanced down at the dog in question, and Mara followed his line of sight. He was happily treading along the pavement, and Mara wished that she didn’t give a shit about anything as much as Tom’s dog seemed not to.

“—yeah, so I thought it would be better if I _didn’t_ have a dog right now, not because I don’t _want_ to, _dear God_ , but it’s for the best, really.”

“Save yourself _and the dog_ some pain.”

Mara nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, that’s _exactly_ what I mean…” Tom gave her a small smile.

Then, brief but awkward silence.

“Sort of relevant, but back in the States we had a corgi named Felix.”

Tom raised a brow at her. “‘We’?” _You know exactly_ _what she meant by that! She might think you’re insufferable at the rate you’re going._

“Uh… family and I. He was good company while I was in college— _anyway_ , uh, he’s blind, so early on into having him we had to get him one of those, like, little helmets with a halo because he kept bumping into walls.”

Mara was almost amused at the worried face Tom immediately gave her, but then she started feeling dejected as she started missing her own dog. Apparently, the once God of Mischief and ex-soldier had a soft spot for dogs and it was practically radiating off of him. “Goodness, that poor dog!” he told her, sounding a bit despondent. “Is he alright?” 

“Yes, he’s completely fine!” Mara reassured him, smiling up at Tom. “He’s staying with my parents back in America. When I get the chance to speak with them on Skype, sometimes I ask to see Felix even though he won’t be able to actually see me...” Her eyes started looking a bit downcast, and Tom’s heart went to her.

She moved her scarf down to sip some of her coffee, which wasn’t piping hot anymore and sighed heavily before moving her scarf back up. “But he can hear my voice, and he still remembers what I sound like! He gets really excited and I just melt because _he’s so cute_ and now you’re making me miss _my_ dog.” Mara pouted a bit.

Tom chuckled, slightly relieved that she wasn’t that sad anymore. “I believe that it’s alright for me to assume that we are, inherently, the same person.”

“You get mushy over cute dogs? Same.” Mara bit her tongue, realising that her quick adjustment to speaking with Tom caused her to be _too_ comfortable, thus causing her to sound like some sort of a bumbling, sappy fool. She started wondering what Tom might be thinking at her way of speech.  _You’re turning 27, you wacko!_

Mara froze, studying her surroundings, and Tom had stopped to glance down at her.

“Are you okay?”

She looked up at him. “I— uh… I need to go in that direction.” Mara pointed to the right of them. “Yeah… I’ve _really_ liked talking to you— _trust me_ , but I don’t want to get carried away and forget that I’m supposed to go home.”

He gave a full grin. “Of— of course. I've been enjoying every conversation that we've had so far, even if they’re cut short. Anyway, er, I live _that_ way—“ Tom pointed to the left. “—so perhaps it’s best that you _don’t_ keep walking with me. _I mean_ — not that I don’t want you to—“

“—yeah, I know what you mean.” Mara smiled back at him. “It was lovely to see you again! I can only hope that we have more mutual friends to see each other at more parties, if anything.” She waved at him goodbye, which he did in return, and she  _winked_ at him, which made Tom _almost_ feel light on his feet. Tom regained his composure, straightening his back and walking back home and humming.

…he _really_ should’ve gotten her number.

 

* * *

 

Mara read over her urtext book of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto as she simultaneously listened to a recording of another violin soloist playing the piece on her phone. Sitting across from her in business class was her manager Naomi, a blonde woman about Sophie’s age, who was currently filling out an agenda journal and paperwork. It was going to be slightly warmer (but still reasonably cold) at her destination, so Mara had changed to a black button-up blouse with a burnt orange-coloured knit cardigan and black & white trainers. Contrastingly, Naomi was wearing a black blazer and slacks, and a white button-up.

The flight from London to Warsaw was only about 2 hours, so they had already reached their destination at about 4 PM. She hastily finished the procedures in immigration control and headed over to the baggage carousel before heading to customs. When she reached the arrival gate, Mara was already immersed in the familiar chatter and overhead announcements for flight departures/arrivals. Naomi wasn’t far behind, pulling her own luggage.

Mara kept her violin case, now in its black protective cover, close to her back as her manager left to go speak with a chauffeur that was calmly waiting in a Mercedes S-Class. It was until Naomi started putting her own luggage in the boot of the car that Mara realised that vehicle was for them. She raised a brow at the quality of accommodation.

When Naomi gestured for her to come over, Mara sat in the back passenger seat with her violin case between her legs (with the bottom on the floor of the vehicle) and her manager offered to put the brunette’s luggage in the back as well.

“[Hotel Bristol](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/183591983643/hotel-bristol-a-luxury-collection-hotel-caf%C3%A9), next to the Presidential Palace?” the chauffeur, a man who to Mara low-key resembled Robert Downey Jr., confirmed in English. Both women nodded.

The vehicle started moving, and Naomi started speaking. “So,” the blonde woman began, looking down at her phone. “I already had your concert dress, shoes, and your other necessities mailed to the hotel, so you should find them sitting in your room already. _However_ , you will have to ask the reception desk about practising personally.”

“…they just wanted to talk to _me_ , huh?” Mara asked, tapping her foot on the floor. She was staring at the sight out of the window on Naomi’s side.

Naomi nodded, pursing her lips. “Mhm. Again, I couldn’t ask them myself, since _I’m_ not the one with the violin.”

The brunette woman chuckled. “Well, I hope they’ll be lenient. And, uh, you know, _not_ assume that I’ll be practising in the dead hours of the night. I have morals.”

“I’ve been making sure that you do.” Naomi grinned at Mara, who was slightly unsure by the subtext in her words.

Mara carefully opened the glass bottle of mineral water provided and sipped some of it to relieve her parched throat due to the lack of humidity in the cabin air of the aeroplane.

“I… this seems a bit extra, Naomi,” she whispered over to Naomi, who narrowed her eyes at her.

_She's even like this with her nieces and nephews, my God._

“Oh, come off of it. You deserve it— don’t be so harsh on yourself.”

“I mean, _oh God_ , I don’t _hate it—_ “ Mara suddenly felt terrible, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound so ungrateful. … _this_ … just seems a bit too, uh…”

Naomi blinked at her. “…much?”

The RDJ-doppelgänger chauffeur couldn’t help but listen to the two women speak. “Are you not accustomed to, ah, this sort of accommodation?” He chuckled a bit.

Mara shrugged, unsure. “I would’ve been fine with getting an Uber. I don’t want to seem like I’m expectant for a lot of luxuries and what not. I— _no offence,_ of course, goodness.”

She was surprised to hear the man laugh, apparently not bothered by her response at all. “I can tell that you’re a sensible person at heart. Only wanting things you _really_ need—“

“—with no intention to show off,” Naomi continued for him, and he nodded at her words. 

Mara felt abashed. “I feel like that type of person in those poorly-written soap operas who always gets advice and words of reassurance from literally _everyone_ she speaks with after she mopes because she felt insufficient.”

“That’s oddly specific,” the chauffeur commented, raising a brow.

“You are that type of person,” Naomi responded bluntly. “But you’ve got your life together. I’m sure that you think you _aren’t_ insufficient—“

“ _No_ , of course not,” Mara said, snorting. “I’m too privileged— there’s no valid reason for me to be sulking. Look at me, I’ve saved enough to wear in-season designer gowns at performances, _apparently_ ride in luxury cars, and live next to celebrities. You’d have to slap me if I thought _that_ was a case of insufficiency.”

“If you truly were like that,” Naomi responded with a deadpanned expression. “I’d have to slap myself for letting you become that way _before_ I slap you for acting like that. I’d also get fired, mind you, for either offence.”

Mara gave her manager a full grin. “Keeping me level headed. Thank you, Naomi.”

The remainder of the ride was mainly quiet until the women had arrived at the hotel and thanked the chauffeur. Apparently, he was going to drive them everywhere, so Mara was expecting to see him again. Well, at least tomorrow night when she needed to perform at the National Philharmonic, the venue that was about 10 minutes from their hotel.

While they unloaded and headed into the lobby, Naomi was rapidly texting… emailing? someone on her phone and Mara couldn’t help but be amused. The lobby was outstanding— white marble floors and silver/gold chandeliers, along with a few small sculptures and floral designs, something Mara abruptly moved away from. When she reached the reception desk, the area had a recurring theme of white and blue, white being on the walls and floors while blue was the colour of the armchairs. She checked herself in at the desk.

Mara had almost forgotten about the other issue she needed to bring up. “Oh! I was, uh… I was wondering if I would be allowed to practise my violin in my hotel room? I’m a concert soloist, so I need to have some time to prepare…”

The receptionist nodded. “Yes, yes, of course.” Mara was relieved. “Provided that you have a way to at least ‘mute’ yourself while playing and— you’ll do this during the day, yes?”

“I— yes. I don’t think I would be bothering anyone if I play in the middle of the day, but I’ll still put a mute on my instrument.”

“Perfect. Then yes, you are free to do so. Still, be mindful of the other guests near you.”

“Of course.” Mara had finished her registration and calmly waited for Naomi out of courtesy. When her manager had finished, they both headed to the elevators and to Mara’s floor first, since Naomi had to speak with her.

When Mara unlocked the door to her room, she was immediately greeted with an immaculately arranged room and stepped on a light beige-coloured carpet to see the cream-coloured Victorian patterned walls. A large tan-coloured leather chest was at the foot of the bed, and two matching coloured armchairs were situated in front of the wide windows. Normally, the hotel would leave a pot of flowers for the guest, but per Mara’s request (i.e. Naomi’s _persuasive_ suggestion), the little table between the armchairs had a little package with soaps and other toiletries instead. A large white box with the hotel’s address and a few Royal Mail labels was sitting near the bed. She walked over to the window, curtains opened and peaked to see the bustling street outside at peak temperature.

Mara placed her violin case down on the leather chest and glanced at Naomi.

Naomi read his name off of the email. “Julian Łukasiewicz. Born 1989 in Kraków, actually. Famous opera singer.” Mara realised that this had to be the person she was going to guest-star with on the podcast.

“…a _singer_ ,” Mara repeated, narrowing her eyes at Naomi. “Uh— I don’t think I’ve ever worked with a singer before…”

“He’s an opera singer,” Naomi corrected. “Not _too_ far off your field, but I know you have some operatic experience.”

“Yes, but in the _orchestra pit_ , not on stage singing arias.” Mara sighed heavily. “I mean… will _we_ work together well? Violins and voices both naturally possess soloist qualities, so it might sound like we’re not giving the other room to speak.”

Naomi took that into account. “That’s true, but I’m getting the feeling that you’ll both adjust quite easily.” She skimmed through the rest of the email. “At the recording studio, you’ll have the chance to sightread— _sight sing_ , in his case— all of the music for the podcast and rehearse it with him for a bit. Make any changes to your interpretation or approach if needed. Sound fair to you?”

Mara was currently stuck in her thoughts. _Hm, suppose experimenting with duos isn’t too shabby. You can’t be too quick to judge anyway._ Naomi cleared her throat, and she was suddenly back in reality. “Yes, yes. Can’t be too bad, right?”

“Kudos for the attitude,” Naomi complimented. “There’s this [video](https://youtu.be/00OQStNlGi4?t=13) of him singing on YouTube uploaded a few weeks ago that I think you should watch. It seems like a good introduction to the man before you _actually_ work with him. I’ll send a link.”

“Duly noted.”

Naomi had to leave to speak with the coordinators at the performance venue, so she said a quick ‘goodbye’ to Mara before hastily walking out of her hotel room, leaving Mara standing in her room alone.

Mara took her [concert gown](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/182851088873/pre-fall-2018-20-jenny-packham-the) out of the box, an aubergine-coloured floor length dress with a halter neck that was embellished with little stones around the waist, neck, and outward curvature of the breast area, and she hung it up in the provided closet. Knowing Naomi, she would probably order the dress to be steamed to remove the light wrinkles that showed up before Mara could even wear it. She took out her heels for tomorrow and placed them next to the leather chest, and progressively took out all of her clothing to hang up inside the closet as well.

After situating herself, Mara realised that she was in the mood to go out. Locking her violin case inside the closet, she walked out, locked the room behind her, and took out her phone, briefly wondering if Yelp worked in Warsaw. She stepped out of the hotel and decided to wing it and go around.

Not far from her was the Saxon Garden, a state park, and Mara figured that she could kill some time there and reflect on the events from earlier— _seeing Tom again, of all things_ — to put her in a relaxed state.

 

* * *

 

After having dinner at a Polish restaurant, which was only 5 minutes (walking distance) from the hotel, Mara retreated to her room, where she suddenly got a text from Naomi. 

> `(Link: _dailymail.co.uk_ — Tom Hiddleston seen with mystery woman while walking his dog around London)`
> 
> `_Mara… I apologise for possibly making assumptions, but is this you…?_`
> 
> ` Delivered at 18:51 `

Mara raised a brow at the link that her manager sent her, and she tapped on it. She heard of the tabloid since they had their fair share of paparazzi pictures of famous people as they randomly walked down pavements, and strangely detailed articles to accompany them.

... _and_ she was finally part of it.

She wasn’t sure how she didn’t notice, since the pictures were taken by someone who was oddly close to them at the time (or with an exceptional camera, and Mara is betting on that option). In the pictures, one could see Tom with his layers of outerwear and baseball cap holding his dog’s leash, and Mara, her stature barely reaching the base of Tom’s neck as she was equally layered with her knit scarf covering everything below the bridge of her nose.

Tom must have noticed, and being a well-known actor, he learned to not bother with the paparazzi, but it was a completely different experience for Mara and she _really_ should’ve seen this coming as she was with him, anyway.

> _The 37-year old-star was seen taking his dog on a walk and simultaneously conversing with a mystery woman, who was nearly arm-to-arm with the actor. Strangely, she had half of her face covered with her scarf, most likely due to the cold weather. There has been speculation that she did not want to attract attention to herself and simply hid her face._
> 
> _They seemed to be having a rather deep conversation, with the ‘Thor’ star and the brunette woman donning serious expressions. So far, the woman is yet to be identified, but it’s safe to assume that she may as well be the new flame (a seemingly unknown one, at that) in the actor’s life after infamously dating American singer Taylor Swift back in 2016 (a stark contrast to the woman he is seeing now)._
> 
> _**Update:** According to several users on Twitter, the woman is Mara Blanchard, an American violin soloist. Despite being both musicians, she and singer Taylor Swift are in two completely different sides of the spectrum.  
>  _

Mara audibly gasped, (intentionally) ignoring the whole elaboration on Tom’s previous relationship, which comprised the rest of the article. _Are you actually joking? I’m not trying to hide my face— it was cold outside... Also, new flame? Is that what they think of me?!_

Fuming in her spot, Mara remembered to respond to her manager’s texts.

> `_excuse me what the fuck_ `
> 
> `_oh God I’m so sorry for responding so distastefully. yes, that is me... apparently_`
> 
> ` Delivered at 19:02 `

> ` _Do you mind enlightening me?_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 19:03 `

> ` _how about we have it over breakfast tomorrow? it’s a rather detailed story heh_ `

She froze. _Wait, what if Naomi interprets that differently— oh_ _shit_ _—_ Mara hastily sent another text of clarification.

> ` _I don’t mean in !!that!! context_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 19:04 `

Mara facepalmed, her face a seemingly unhealthy shade of red from embarrassment.

> ` _Of course. (skull emoji) _I’ll be all ears tomorrow.__ ` __
> 
> _` Delivered at 19:05 ` _

__

__

Feeling uneasy, she face-planted on her bed, her short scream being muffled by the covers. _Tom must fucking hate me now!_

__

She couldn’t wait for the next two days when she’ll have her performance and meet the singer— _oh!_ Mara received the link from Naomi, and she had it on in the background as she started her skincare routine. Mara didn’t pay attention to what the singer looked like, but she was surprised to hear that his singing voice was higher pitched than she assumed. _Countertenor. As if the combination between us couldn’t stand out any more._

__

The only thing on her mind now was Tom. Her stomach churned at the thought of him wanting to avoid her now since she might as well be the fuel for rumours in the older actor’s life— much more than she thinks he probably needs at this point. 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter has been edited and revised on 19/08/19.**


	4. March, 2018: 4

Mara calmly sipped some of her herbal tea as she looked over the music booklet that Naomi had given her a couple of minutes ago, which contained all of the music that she would play with the singer, Julian. Based on what she’s been seeing so far, it seems to her that her role was more accompaniment, which she was silently thankful for. _I needed a bit of a break from solo work, anyway._

Both women were currently sitting at a table in the café attached to the hotel, which had a bit of an elegant-retro vibe. The sounds of silverware and loud chatter filled their ears, and it didn’t bother them in the slightest. Naomi was dressed in her ‘professional’ attire, with the black blazer and the slacks, while Mara had dressed in a black and white striped sweater and black high-waisted jeans. She also had her half-rimmed glasses on. Their breakfast had arrived only a few minutes ago, and they were happily dining on it— well, Naomi was.

“Do you like the music?” Naomi asked as she ate some of her scrambled eggs and looked down at the open music book.

Mara nodded as she still looked down, adding in a note with an HB pencil. “Yes— it seems rather simple to sightread. The first one is a bit folksy, which I enjoy…”

“Oh, _that_ one is my favourite. You’ll both do well.” She was now looking down at her phone, apparently reading an email, and pursed her lips together. “Erm, Mara…”

The woman in question glanced up from the music. “Yes?”

Naomi blinked quickly. “His manager just sent me an email. He— _Julian_ wants to have dinner with you.”

At this, Mara froze, blankly staring at Naomi as the HB pencil fell out of her hand and onto the book. “… _What?_ ”

“Mhm.” She scrolled down and skimmed through the rest of the email. “ _Oh_ — purely business reasons. He just wants to get to know you before recording.”

Mara sighed heavily in relief. “That’s good. I was assuming—“ _That he wanted to ask you out? Yeah! I mean, it’s not like there’s anyone you’d_ _rather_ _go out with…_ She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“—yeah, I had a feeling I knew what you were thinking,” Naomi said. “His intentions are platonic, or at least that’s what _his_ manager claims in this email. Er… _would_ you like to go?”

She thought about it for a bit. _It’s highly unlikely that anyone will recognise you outside of the venue, or will care enough to go up to you… right?_

“Sure,” Mara confirmed, smiling as she picked up her pencil again. “I wouldn’t mind getting to know him. When is this going to be?”

“Tonight— 5:00.” She noted how abrupt this was, and Naomi seemed to know that as well. “It is rather… _earlier_ , than you might’ve expected it… but I don’t think you told me of any major plans before your performance.”

Mara shook her head. “Nope. I _was_ planning to start my little ‘sight-seeing’ trip, but I’ve got over a week to fit that all in, so I should be alright… I guess…?”

“Great, I’ll send a reply.” And Mara continued notating her music until she got lost in her thoughts.

_…um, what if he_ _did_ _want to ask you out? Like some sort of date? Where he’s expecting some sort of relationship to come out of it?_ _Hello_ _… what about Ben’s friend, even though he probably doesn’t want to see you ever again— what are you_ _doing_ _?!_

“Um… I’m sure he’ll be nice.” Mara mentally slapped herself. _You sounded like a Mary-Sue, what makes you think he’ll_ _want_ _to go immediately go out with you? It’s business._ _Business_ _, I tell you!_

Naomi spoke up after she sent that email. “Anyway, that article…”

Mara groaned. “What would you like to know?” she asked meekly.

“I know it’s not any of my business on a personal level, but _if_ you get identified, then I’ll have to manage how you’re being viewed by the public at this time. Did you know… _Tom Hiddleston_ , I think that’s his name— before?”

“Uh, I met him through a mutual friend.” _Ben! Or Sophie, technically, since she invited me to the dinner party._ “I just saw him yesterday and said ‘hi’, but… there’s _nothing_ between us, I can assure you.” She tried to push down the pangs of pain that appeared when she confirmed that.

She nodded slowly. “I— alright, I see. Erm, anything else you’d like to mention?”

Mara sighed. “Well, on the day I met him…”

 

* * *

 

…Mara couldn’t believe it. It was like staring at a living David by Michelangelo. But a six-something-foot-tall Polish man.

[Julian](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/182851311458/julian-%C5%82ukasiewicz-nationality-polish-date-of) had met up with her in front of the restaurant, which was only about 10 minutes from her hotel. At this time, Mara had finished going through a quick practise session in her hotel room and arrived at the restaurant promptly. She dressed as she normally would— a grey fitted turtleneck and black high-waisted slacks with oxfords and her wool coat. He, on the other hand, was wearing a navy blue sweater and black pants with brown boots, and he also donned a black wool coat with a scarf. Wearing his full-rimmed glasses, and his curly hair poking out a bit, Mara realised that he now only reminded her of the man she walked with yesterday when he walked his dog in the morning.

It didn’t help that she got along with him fairly quickly (something she found _extremely_ unusual for herself), which was reminiscent of her past conversations with Tom. She briefly wondered what he looked like with hair as short as Julian’s. _…why the fuck are you thinking about Tom? They’re completely different people!_

“Hello,” Julian had greeted her, and she heard a little tinge of an accent (which was no surprise to her). His speaking voice was a lot deeper than his singing voice, and Mara didn’t know how to feel about that. “It’s wonderful to _finally_ meet you.”

“Yes, uh… you too,” Mara agreed, flashing a nervous grin at him. His cheeks turned pink, and he let go of her hand that he shook. He led her inside, which was a rather elegant but slightly small room. It was very bright, not because of the lights (which actually were bright), but because of the white walls and tablecloths. The chairs contrasted with a dark brown, and there were some decorative flowers at some tables, specifically at theirs. They had already gotten their reservation accepted, and the state of their table made Mara a bit uneasy.

Julian had noticed her discomfort almost immediately. “Do you not like the place?” he asked, worried.

“Oh— no, no, this is a beautiful restaurant,” Mara reassured, and he nodded in relief. “It’s just that… our table, uh…” She pointed at the flowers.

He raised a brow as she purposely stepped away from the table. It clicked to him. “Oh! You’re… what, allergic?”

“To those, specifically.” Her brows were furrowed, and Julian got the attention of a server, who quickly took the flowers away and apologised profusely. 

After doing so, Julian walked over to her. “They asked if we would like to move to a different table, preferably away from the other tables with flowers.” …at least half of the tables had flowers, however.

“I just can’t be in _really_ close proximity to them, that’s all.” Mara shrugged nonchalantly (or attempted to, at least). “If I haven't taken my medication, my allergies start acting up and I look like a mess. But I actually _did_ taken my meds earlier, so I think our table should be fine—” She gestured to the large window on the side of their table.

“Yes, I _do_ like our view, even if Warsaw in general probably doesn’t seem like much…” Julian modestly agreed as he sat down and gestured for Mara to sit. 

Mara looked at him, a bit dismayed. “What? This city is _beautiful_ — don’t sell you and your people short. London can get… _boring_ , at times. Well, at least in the area that I’m from.”

“What? London is _incredible_ , though.” He was now looking down at the menu placed in front of them. “I don’t want _you_ to sell yourself and your people ‘short’”. Mara chuckled a bit.

There was a bit of awkward silence as they both calmly sipped their complimentary glasses of water and read through the menu. 

“Uh, I don’t know if you are _religious_ or anything…” Julian spoke up. “…but today is Good Friday— to me since I’m Catholic. I didn’t realise how not many dishes aren’t exactly meat-fasting friendly here…”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right,” Mara agreed, nodding as she read her menu. “Not exactly vegetarian _or_ vegan-friendly, either.” She vaguely got reminded of Benedict when she mentioned _vegan_. _Guess he can’t eat here if he visits._

“Well, the risotto with chanterelles is all I can have for today,” he said, pointing at it. “Not surprising that it’s the dish that costs the least. What are you having?”

“Um…” She skimmed the list a few times. “The sous-vide turkey doesn’t sound too shabby.”

Julian lightly clapped his hands together in confirmation. “That’s great. I’ll order for us.”

And so he did, and Mara couldn’t help but realise _how_ much charisma radiated off of the guy. It was as if he befriended _everyone_ immediately, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he practically got along with the entirety of Poland’s population. What she had also noticed was _how_ observant Julian was— discovering her flower allergy _minutes_ into meeting her, and her discomfort for some things (which Mara thought was actually crazy, since her face never really contorts if she shows disinterest in anything).

“So… your performance is tonight, huh?” Julian asked, hoping to make the dinner less awkward due to the lack of conversation.

Mara nodded with a sheepish look. “Mhm. I’ve actually never been here before, but from what I know, the Warsaw Philharmonic is phenomenal.”

He gaped at her. “You’ve _never_ been here? To Warsaw?” She shook her head. “…Poland?” Again, she shook her head. “I’m giving you a list of places to see and visit. Trust me, I basically know this, uh, this entire country to the bone.”

Their food had arrived promptly by the server, who had also given them a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Mara had to reject because she found the taste of wine to be too bitter, so Julian inevitably had more for himself (something he regulated, of course). As she started cutting the turkey into more consumable pieces, Julian noticed a group of four people setting up in the corner, taking out their string instruments and music. He focused on his food as they started tuning.

Not long after, Julian perked up at the music being played by a local string quartet in the restaurant, silent as he intently listened. Across from him, Mara observed his actions as she ate.

“Do you hear the music?” he asked when he stopped focusing and ate his risotto.

Mara stopped eating to hear the music— the sound of a violin, _two_ , rather, with one playing a melody in A minor (as she quickly found out) that changed key in the middle and the other elaborating on it in an ornamental sort-of fashion. Contrastingly, the alto and bass lines had short successions of notes, but they only changed in pitch.

She nodded after her brief analysis. “Yes. _Obviously_ a string quartet piece. I’m getting vibes of either… classical or romantic era…?”

“Perhaps both?” Julian suggested. “It sounds like Schubert.”

Blinking, Mara continued to listen until something clicked. “[Rosamunde](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScCllLKtMmo)?”

“Ah, so you _have_ heard of it,” the Polish man noted. “ _Unless_ … you’ve played it before?”

“I have a vague memory of playing it during my Curtis days.” Mara sipped some of her water. “Although, I had to learn _a lot_ of string quartet pieces, so my memory in that area might not be so hot anymore.”

He blinked rapidly. “Curtis? As in… the Curtis Institute of Music?”

Mara nodded slowly. “Um, yeah, that was my alma mater. What was yours?”

Julian raised a brow at her nonchalance. “That’s an _extremely_ competitive music conservatory! You must be honoured to attend that place.” He realised that he didn’t answer her question, and blushed a bit. “Oh, uh, I went to Juilliard School— I finished my master’s degree there recently. It’s not Curtis, but it’s something…”

“Yes, of course I'm honoured,” she acknowledged first, shrugging. “But it’s not like I got in without any worries or anything like that. I was a hot mess during my first two years— I kept messing up during quartet recitals, and I _begged_ the director to put me below the first violins so I didn't have to lead and cue, ironically. Solo recitals were also a big no-no.”

She continued, shaking her head in amusement. “Anyway, you finished your master’s at Juilliard? That’s _still_ an incredible school, though! 6% acceptance rate now and everything, _Jesus_ — congratulations, man.”

Julian flashed an embarrassed grin, thanking her. Then, a sudden _fortissimo_ , with all of the instruments getting loud, in the piece. The upper strings hold out a chord and progressively lose volume, while the lower strings succeed with a _forzando_ , an abruptly loud note, and a rapid alternation between two notes soon after.

“Uh, have you seen _The Avengers_ by any chance?”

Mara choked on her water at the changed subject, which startled Julian. Her face turned several shades of red from embarrassment. He leaned in closer and was about to reach a hand out to her until Mara put a hand up to signal her fineness. 

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” she reassured with a hoarse voice and cleared her throat. “I was just… _surprised_ , by the sudden question. I mean— we were just talking about Schubert and uh, schools…” The first two movies came into mind, and a vague memory of her pre-ordering tickets earlier in the week for the third one also showed up briefly.

“Right, right,” Julian commented. “That _was_ … abrupt.”

She nodded slowly, wiping her mouth with the provided napkin. “But, to answer your question regardless… yes, I have. Absolutely incredible. Can you believe it was released six years ago? Goodness.”

“Was it really that long ago?” he asked rhetorically, continuing to eat. “I will agree with you, though— it’s still one of _my_ personal favourites.”

“Mhm.” Mara briefly looked up at him. “Hm…why are you asking?” She started wondering if Julian knew about the article, but she brushed that thought away.

Julian took a sip of his wine. “Well, it’s the music.” He chuckled. “Do you remember when they first encounter Loki at the gala in Stuttgart, Germany? After he attacks that German scientist?”

The mention of Loki _definitely_ made Mara remember Tom— after the publishing of that article, he became the _last_ person she wanted to think of now, which is something she also regrets about deciding. Mara wondered how he was doing now— _does Tom know about the article yet? Does Tom know that people are already _ _trying to look for me_ _?_ _I f I haven't noticed them yet_ _?!_

“Yes,” Mara responded calmly, desperately trying to ignore her thoughts of Tom. “He initially has a rather dramatic entrance, with the suit and everything, but I guess that’s just fitting for Loki’s persona.” _Would Tom make a contention against that statement? Or would he agree?_ She started wondering if it would be possible to be involved in a conversation about Loki with the actor himself. _If he’ll even bother being seen with you again._

“And _that_ entrance is shown simultaneously with the first _fortissimo_ in Rosamunde. Progressively, as he descends down the stairs and intervenes with the gala—“

“—the first ‘climax’ in the piece is being approached, where the figure is repeated with imitation and eventually reaches chord progression, but for every accented downbeat in each phrase—“

“—Loki progressively becomes more barbaric, taking out his sceptre and hitting the guard, uses that… _device_ to get an image of the scientist’s eye, destroying public property, and eventually subjugates all of the guests.”

Julian and Mara locked eyes, his grey eyes with flecks of brown staring right into her brown ones. They were both equally confused. It was at this moment that Mara realised that Julian, in fact,looked nothing like Tom, the longer she looked at him. _Yeah, but you just miss_ _the other guy, don’t you?_

“We sound like nerds,” Julian declared, and Mara couldn’t help but smirk. “Analysing music in a Marvel movie while we eat at this _really_ fancy restaurant.”

“Maybe it’s the schools,” Mara blamed rather bluntly. “Were you assigned analysis for every piece you sing? It was like that at Curtis, except, uh, you know… I _don’t_ sing…”

“Yes, oh my goodness.” He refilled some of his wine glass. “My teachers at Juilliard were crazy about musical analysis and theory, which I’m sure you understand. _Can_ you sing, though?”

Mara shook her head, chuckling a little. “ _No_. Um… I’m an atrocious singer. You don’t _ever_ want to hear me sing— I think I'd actually offend you and make you rip your ears off or something.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Julian teased, and Mara blinked at his change in tone. “You should sing your part with me tomorrow in the studio.”

“I… can’t sing chords. Or sing in general.”

Julian jokingly rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, Mara.” He drawled. There was an undertone of suggestiveness in his words, and suddenly she felt a bit uncomfortable. Mara put her fork down rather loudly, her other hand fidgeting with the napkin on her lap. Her eyes widened at the sound of stainless steel hitting the surface.

“Oh, _sorry_ , I didn’t— I’m not, like, upset or anything…”

He put a hand up, sipping his wine. Julian’s brows furrowed in worry. “No, no, it’s fine. I should be saying sorry, I mean, I just realised that it just sounds like I’m trying to _get_ at you or something— which, I’m not, I swear! I’ve been with someone for a few years already, and, uh, she means a lot to me. I’m _really_ sorry for sounding so… _forward_.” Mara’s heart hurt a bit, but more out of envy. _Even_ _he_ _has someone to be with!_

Continuing, Julian had a sheepish expression on his face. “I— I would like to know _why_ you’re upset— by the way, yes, I can tell that you _are_ upset— but I also, um… it might be rude of me to ask.”

“No, you’re fine, it’s just…” Mara sighed heavily. _It won’t kill, to tell the truth, right?_  She pinched the bridge of her nose.  “You’re… _seriously_ reminding me of someone right now and I sort of… _want_ to see them right now— but… I _can’t_ be with them.”

Mara inwardly cringed.  _I sound like a fucking creep. What the fuck?_

“I… remind you of someone?” Julian repeated, unfazed. “Are they back in London right now? Back where you live?”

Her jaw dropped at his neutral tone.  _Is he not freaked out by this? Are you actually kidding me?_

She forgot that he had asked a question. Mara reluctantly nodded. “Lives there too.”

Julian raised a brow. “Hm. Is it a boyfriend? Or, uh… girlfriend?” At the mention of _boyfriend_ , Mara sharply inhaled. _Wait, what—_ _he_ _’s not even your boyfriend! What the fuck?!_

“I— uh, no.” _Technically, you’re a liar._ She gave him a sheepish look. “Well… he’s not like _that_ to me…”

“So, just some romantic interest, then. Seeing each other?”

“I don’t think _he_ wants to be with me in _that_ way, either.” Her heart was palpitating by the second.

His eyes widened a bit. “Forbidden romance? I’m starting to run out of guesses.”

Mara snorted as she abruptly became more willing to answer. “You _could_ call it that.”

Julian nodded, starting to be interested. “Forbidden why, exactly? Is it age? Occupation?” He paused, looking aghast. “Actually, never mind, that's probably too personal—“

“—it’s okay, I don’t mind,” Mara reassured him, becoming amused. “And to answer _that_ — he _is_ older than me, but I don’t actually care that much… uh, maybe _he_ might care though…”

“By how much?”

“Ten years. Or at least… that’s what I remember reading…?”

He merely blinked at her. “Reading? Where? Did _he_ not tell you?”

_…shit._

Mara couldn’t get out of this now. 

“Well, he’s… famous. Has his own Wikipedia page, for example. And I guess, um, substantially _more_ famous than I am.” She had no choice but to reveal everything. “This infamous yet _horrid_ tabloid wrote an article about us and they’ve tried to find out who I am—“

“—they haven’t identified you?” Apparently, Julian didn’t really care that the person of discussion was famous, nor did he ask who it was.

_ This guy is super tolerant, what the hell. He's completely laid-back about it._

_ Well, you should be glad that he's not acting like a dick instead. _

She paused for a moment but continued. “Actually, they kinda did find out, but I was wearing a scarf and it covered half of my face. _Not_ because I didn’t want to be seen, but _because_ I was cold. They claimed that I wanted my face to be hid and _that’s not true._ ” Mara rubbed her face with her hands, and Julian tapped the table to get her attention.

“Hey, hey,” Julian whispered, a worried look on his face. “You don’t have to say anymore— I can tell this is bothering you. Perhaps _stressing_ you out, even. Just— just forget what we were talking about, okay?”

Mara looked up at him and gave a small smile. 

“Uh— okay. That's... fine. Yeah. Fine. Um, do you mind if we, um, change the subject?”

“Of course, I don't mind.” Julian paused, before pursing his lips together. “So how were you planning to play our first piece, ‘[Jesu Sweet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FrxI9YUfNbw)’?”

 

* * *

 

At the last note, Mara aggressively drew her bow down on her violin and dramatically released with her arm up in the air, and once the conductor’s arms go down she _immediately_ hears a roaring of applause from the audience. She stares right at the audience, giving a full grin as she holds the violin by the neck and the bow by the frog, and bows down.

Glancing over at the conductor, he shakes her free hand and thanks her. Mara turns to the concertmistress and firmly shakes her hand, before turning to the rest of the orchestra and clapping along with the audience. The conductor leads the way as he and Mara walk off stage to the back, where she finds some of the coordinators and Naomi complimenting her. 

Applause could still be heard from the audience, and the conductor looked over at her.

“They’re still clapping,” he noted, peering at the view that could be seen from backstage. “You should play an encore for them. Do you have one planned?”

Mara blinked. “…yes. Bach’s Sarabande from Partita in D Minor. Contrasts with Mendelssohn a bit…” She glanced at the clock that hung on the wall backstage. _19:21_

“I’m sure that they’ll enjoy it as much as the Concerto.” At that, Mara smiled at him.

She briefly turned away to quickly play the first few chords of the piece before deciding her readiness and stepping back out, to which she was greeted with more applause. Letting them clap for a bit longer, Mara eventually put her instrument up to tune, silencing the audience, and she began playing.

 

* * *

 

> _Orkiestra Filharmonii Narodowej…_
> 
> __
> 
> __
> 
> _ {dyrygent} Maestro Jacek Kaspszyk i {skrzypek} Mara Blanchard._
> 
> __
> 
> __
> 
> __
> 
> _30/3/2018. Filharmonia Narodowa w Warszawie._
> 
> __

__

*****

Mara was sitting on her hotel bed, still wearing her aubergine dress but now barefoot, as her heels sat by the leather chest. She had the programme in her hand, staring at the cover (which _actually_ had an updated photo of her— the one with the ridiculously long black velvet and mesh dress). Now, she felt fatigued, after an… _interesting_ dinner with Julian Łukasiewicz, and a full performance with the city’s orchestra, but she only had to record a podcast episode and her schedule was now compatible with _her_ interests for the rest of the week and for half of the next week.

To be fair, the dinner with the Polish opera singer didn’t end on a bad note, if one was to ignore the strange suggestive connotations that appeared multiple times (but mainly from Julian’s end). He said it was unintentional— _yeah, he has a girlfriend, though!—_ but whatever happened in regards to that would be included in Mara’s list of “weirdest-things-that-has-ever-happened-in-her-life”. Beyond that, he reminded her of the friends she had when she was in music conservatory. Now, they were either touring musicians like her or conductors/teachers of various orchestras and none of them decided to move continents as she did.

Overall, Mara found this to be a confusing March. At the beginning of the month, she was minding her own business and performing in Norway, but also basking in the beautiful sights that were exclusive to the areas. In the middle of the month, Tom Hiddleston walked in while she practised at Sophie’s dinner party. At the end of the month, she was in Poland and suddenly feeling a gap in her life, particularly in the relationship area.

As if the older woman listened to her previous thoughts, Sophie had actually sent her a text.

> ` _Hi Mara! I believe your performance was an hour ago in Warsaw, so how was it? And how are you?_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:40 `

Mara gaped. She didn’t realise how much she missed speaking with Sophie again, especially since the last time they actually spoke— _saw_ each other was the day _of_ her neighbour’s party. This seemed to be a common occurrence, but for both sides, there isn’t much they can do about it. Her reply came by quickly.

> ` _it was great!! they’re an incredible orchestra, and the hall is amazing too. by the way, I’m alright. what about you?_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:41 `

> ` _I’m alright as well. I’m reading a few books to our eldest right now, and he’s going through them sooo quickly. He’s just like his father, it’s ridiculous!_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:43 `

> ` _more like both of you. your ‘library’ room has good acoustics, btw._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:43 `

> `(rolling eyes emoji) _…I mean, you’re not exactly wrong. Who knew a Chopin Sonata would sound so resonant in there?_ (thinking emoji)`
> 
> ` _Anyway, what have you done so far? Or plan to do while you’re in Warsaw?_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:44 `

She paused for a second, thinking about what she could say. _Should I tell her about the dinner? I mean, it’s not like a big deal or anything…_

> `_uh… well I had dinner with this guy_ _earlier tonight_`
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:45 `

Mara pressed send and _then_ realised that _that_ was, indeed, a mistake.

On Sophie’s end back in London, her eyes widened and the small stack of children’s books nearly fell out of her other hand.

> ` _I'm sorry, you had… DINNER with a guy??_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:45 `

Facepalm. She realised that her makeup was still on. Mara’s hands had a tremor as she replied.

> ` _BUSINESS REASONS. I SWEAR TO GOD._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:45 `

> ` _Well, I am not having my first heart attack at 40 years old. You could’ve elaborated!_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:45 `

> ` _I’m tired_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:46 `

> ` _I’ll forgive you for that. Do you mind me asking about it? Like we're schoolgirls?_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:46 `

When Sophie sent that text, Mara didn’t mind and had decided to send her a picture that she and Julian took together after they had dinner. It was really for his Facebook page (which she doesn’t use, mind you), announcing that he was going to work with her for the podcast episode, and a picture didn’t hurt. Since he was a lot taller than her, _he_ took the picture on her phone, and they both stared up at the camera with grins as they stood on the pavement.

> `(Attachment: 1 image)`
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:48  
>  `

One timezone behind and Sophie was staring at the picture Mara had sent. For a second, she thought that the guy with her was—

> ` _You know, he sort of looks like that guy you were speaking with at my party a while back. Do you know who I’m talking about? He’s a friend of Ben’s. The one with the long curly hair and the glasses._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:49 `

In Poland, Mara rapidly blinked. _Oh… well, I guess she saw it too._

> ` _yeah, I think so. I think his name was like… Tom or something like that?_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:49 `

_Yeah, you don’t have to think about it. You fucking know his name already._

> ` _Oh, so you remember him? He and Ben have been friends for years._ `
> 
> ` _Sorry, this isn’t exactly the point of the conversation. That guy just reminded me of Tom bit._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:50 `

_No, no, keep talking about him!_ Mara’s conscience spoke for her.

> `_lol it’s okay. his name is Julian, and he’s just a singer that I’m working with for a popular podcast series here in Poland._ _but I guess he kinda does look like Tom!_`
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:50 `

> ` _You see it too? I think it’s the hair, even though it’s a bit darker and Tom is growing his out now. Or the glasses. You and Tom got along pretty well from what I saw._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:50 `

Mara blankly stared at her phone, unsure of where this conversation was going.

> ` _I mean, I guess... he was awfully nice. I didn’t know he and Ben were longtime friends, though…_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:50 `

> ` _Mhm. They filmed a movie together— War Horse— starting in 2010. If they weren’t so busy nowadays, they would be inseparable. I’ve been betting on that since Ben introduced me to him._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:51 `

She burst out laughing.

> ` _is this us? lol_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:51 `

> ` _Honestly! LOL I mean, now that I think about it,_ ` ` _you_ _actually remind me of Tom a bit. Of course, personality wise. I guess I probably remind you of Ben._`
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:52 `

At this, Mara became flustered. _Was it really a bad thing that I remind Sophie of_ _Tom_ _, of all people?!_

> ` _that is a… bold statement regarding me. I’m not a wicked good and/or exceptionally talented actor._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:52 `

> ` _You’re just as dedicated as he is! But with that being said, you’re both a bit stubborn at times… I won’t be surprised if you two end up being partners_ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:52 `

…Mara’s heart stopped. _I'm sorry… what? _Why was there a lack of oxygen in the room? Was she having carbon monoxide poisoning? Do they even make detectors for that in Poland? Or was she hyperventilating from Sophie’s reply—__

____

__

> ` _In crime for a heist, I mean. Accidentally sent ‘Send’ too quickly._ `
> 
> ` Delivered at 20:52 `

She didn’t see Sophie’s most recent text. In anxiousness, Mara threw her phone at the foot of her bed, which ended up sliding off the sheets and onto the carpeted floor. Her chest was heaving, her back hunched over and underwires started _seriously_ digging into her torso. Eyes are widened, mouth dry, suddenly feeling clammy.

In England, Sophie briefly thought if  _her_ text was really an accident, but she brushed the thought away.  _That's not right of me to think that!_

Like at least 6 million other women (and perhaps men), it would be pointless to be in denial about it at this point. Yeah, Mara sort of likes Tom Hiddleston. No big deal… except that she was trying to make an excuse.

_But you have a_ _career_ _! Do you see him dating around while being some world-famous actor, huh?! What the fuck happened to being a world-renowned soloist? Who will you be, compared to Jascha Heifetz? Compared to Itzhak Perlman? Joshua Bell? Anne-Sophie Mutter? Literally, the rest of your colleagues that are older than you?! Will you leave the Earth with an influence that ends when you’re like… 30, because you decided to vow eternal love with someone that will probably not be with you forever? That probably doesn’t see you in that context? That probably doesn’t care about your existence that much?_

 

* * *

 

“Mara?”

No response.

A heavy sigh.

“ _Mara!_ ”

She was snapped out of whatever trance she was in. Back in reality, in the recording studio with the Bohemian-patterned rug under her feet, Julian stared at her with a confused look. The microphones weren’t too far from them, and they both had music stands with open books and HB pencils.

Luckily enough, Mara’s violin and bow sat on the closed lid of the grand piano, because she was sure enough that it would’ve fallen out of her hands during her unresponsive state.

“Are you alright? Did you not get enough sleep or anything like that?”

_God, are the bags under my eyes_ _that_ _obvious?_

“…maybe.”

Julian ‘tsked’ as he opened a water bottle that was provided. “You should take a nap after this. It’s not good to be going around without enough sleep.”

“I know, I know,” Mara meekly acknowledged. “It’s nice that you’re worried… I guess, so thank you.”

He nodded slowly, giving her a small smile. Skimming through the book, he thought it would be best to not push it with Mara since it seemed like she lacked any power to do anything except getting through the podcast. Hearing the door prop open, Julian craned his head a bit to the corner of the room and Mara turned around with a delayed response. It was one of the hosts of the episode, who came in to speak with them right before they started recording.

Even while she attempted to listen with the best amount of concentration she had, Mara was _exhausted—_ which in her lack of focus made her irritated due to her blatant unprofessionalism. Dilemmas shouldn’t be attempted to be solved in one’s head at midnight and one timezone ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter has been edited and revised on 19/08/19.**
> 
> ***** Polish: [Orkiestra Filharmonii Narodowej… {dyrygent} Maestro Jacek Kaspszyk i {skrzypek} Mara Blanchard. 30/3/2018. Filharmonia Narodowa w Warszawie.]  
> English: [Warsaw Philharmonic Orchestra… {conductor} Maestro Jacek Kaspszyk and {violinist} Mara Blanchard. 30th of March, 2018. National Philharmonic in Warsaw.]  
>   
> Let's not kid ourselves, I can tell you very well that Jakub Józef Orliński looks nothing like Tom. Plot convenience though, am I right?
> 
> For your entertainment, the concert set:  
>   
> [ Tchaikovsky’s Waltz of the Flowers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kw0wLLVEMaA)  
> [ Prokofiev’s Dance of the Knights from Act 1 of Romeo and Juliet, Op. 64](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AG90DBxJK9I)  
> [ Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor [repeat; different performance]](https://youtu.be/o1dBg__wsuo?t=6)  
> [ Bach’s Sarabande from Violin Partita No. 2 in D Minor [encore]](https://youtu.be/XbDedNsiVQk?t=7)  
> [ Debussy’s La Mer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KUFpcPEcwTo)


	5. April, 2018: 1

Benedict was standing in front of the wall mirror in the bathroom, buttoning a charcoal-coloured suit jacket. His slacks were also the same colour and material, except he wore a white dress shirt underneath. The dark brown leather shoes he wore clicked as he casually tapped on the floor. He didn’t mind that his hair wasn’t styled to go off on one side but stuck up a little bit in the front. For a while now, Benedict has been styling himself, rather than having a stylist hired to dress him up in expensive clothing. He could do that himself anyway.

As he was fixing himself up, he heard a firm knock on the door (since the bathroom door was completely open), and the light clicks of Sophie’s stilettos heading over to the foyer. Contrastingly, Sophie’s stylist visited them earlier per her request and helped her choose what to wear for the event tonight. She was wearing a mock neck dress with gold flowers that went down to her knees. Her hair was wavy for the night, and she was a few inches taller due to her stilettos.

Now, the door opened to reveal Benedict’s mother, Wanda. Her hair was tied into a bun and she was dressed in a shawl over her casual clothing.

She briefly greeted her daughter-in-law and headed over to Benedict, who she saw standing in the doorway of the bathroom. He turned around as he heard her footsteps.

“Thank you so much, Mum, for watching the boys tonight,” Benedict gushed, tightly side-hugging Wanda. She flashed a grin at him.

“Oh, it’s no problem, dear,” Wanda dismissed, looking over to her daughter-in-law. “Sophie, I apologise for not telling you right away, but you look beautiful! That dress looks wonderful on you.”

Sophie’s cheeks turned pink. “Thank you so much, Wanda.” She fixed the ring on her right hand. “We’ll be back soon so you don’t have to stay for too long.”

“Don’t mind me!” Wanda responded, gently holding Sophie’s arm. “If anything, I would _love_ having to watch the boys every time you and Benedict go out of the house. In fact, I’d encourage you two to do so.”

Benedict chuckled, wrapping an arm around his mother. “I know you’d love to, but you and Dad live a bit far from London… I would hate for you to constantly drive here just to be with the boys for a couple of hours.”

She narrowed his eyes at him. “Seeing my own grandsons compensates for all of that, dear. I know you usually ask one of your friends to babysit them— was it, er, Maria, the neighbour? Or James, the one who plays the piano?” 

Sophie raised a brow at her mother-in-law, before realising who she meant. “Well, James moved to Spain... and— oh! Er, you mean Mara?”

“Oh, I hadn't heard about James relocating. And _yes_ , Mara— my apologies. The young girl who, you or Benedict said, lives across the street. I’m afraid I don’t know her very well, perhaps _at all_ , but I’m assuming she must be nice if you’re letting her babysit at times.”

“Mhm. Well, she’s out of the country right now, so we couldn’t ask her to babysit this time.”

Wanda nodded with understanding. “Oh, I see, I see. I’m glad you still decided to call me as a back-up plan. Are they in the baby room upstairs?”

Benedict closed the lights of the bathroom and walked down the hall into the kitchen to get a quick drink of water. “Yes,” he announced from the other room. “I just sent Kit to sleep. You should have no problem.”

“I most definitely _won’t_ ,” Wanda retorted as she too walked down the hall but into the living room. “Your sons are _much_ quieter than _you_ were when you were an infant.”

Sophie followed, leaning against the archway. “Did he cry a lot?”

“He was definitely an adorable baby, and for the first few days, he was one of those ‘low-maintenance’ babies who didn’t cry often. I thought it was a _blessing_ , really. After that, _yes_ , I was wondering how he hasn’t damaged his vocal cords from wailing _so_ much.”

Benedict’s cheeks burned as Sophie was practically shaking from laughter. “ _Mum_ ,” he began, embarrassed. He was still holding a glass of re-filled water.

“Your wife asked a question and I _truthfully_ answered, Benedict. I think she ought to know at this point.”

“Do indulge me about his infant _and_ childhood more another time,” Sophie suggested, wiping a tear that dripped from her eye while laughing. She took her phone out of her dress’s pocket to look at the time. “I guess we better go ahead. Benedict, we’ll be _late_ if you keep drinking London’s entire supply of water.”

“On it,” he acknowledged, chugging his glass. Sophie briefly narrowed her eyes at him before turning around to leave. She stopped in front of the open bathroom, where the mirror was conveniently hung above the sink facing the doorway, and briefly checked herself before walking away to the foyer.

 

* * *

 

Her luggage bag remained unpacked. It _was_ open, however. Sitting on the walnut-coloured hardwood floor of her bedroom, and if left any longer could attract some dust.

On her first day back in her home in London, where the sun was already starting to set, Mara had a sudden craving for fruit. While slicing an orange, she accidentally cut the pad of her left middle finger. For the next 10 minutes, she swore, tearing up a little from the unholy sight and the pain when she disinfected the area with rubbing alcohol and wrapped a hot pink-coloured plaster around her finger. There weren’t any other colours in the box.

Practising was basically a no-go since seemingly insignificant things like plasters on fingers or fingerless gloves were pet peeves of hers while playing. Her violin case was going to have to sit inside the storage closet for a bit… which she didn’t mind. She was _actually_ on break now until the start of the next month.

She now sat cross-legged on her light grey couch, wearing an old Harvard University T-shirt she found in her dresser along with cotton leggings and fluffy socks. If Mara remembered correctly, her older brother bought the shirt for her as a joke when she was about to start her bachelor’s degree at music conservatory, and yet somehow it kept making its way back into her loungewear.

_[“What the hell?” a teenaged Mara announced, lifting the burgundy shirt up from the white gift box. “‘Harvard University’? I’m_ _literally_ _going to Curtis next month. Also— you don’t even_ _go_ _to Harvard.”_

_Kenneth rolled his eyes.“Yeah, well, we live like 2 minutes away from the Ivy League. Wear it and pretend to Mom that you still care about actual education.”_

_Mara gasped, and she rolled up the green wrapping tissue and threw it at him.“Damn you STEM kids,” she hissed._

_He glared at her. “Hey! I’m just kidding— wait, who the_ _fuck_ _are you calling a ‘STEM kid’? You future low-income—“_

_The sound of their mother from the kitchen shut Kenneth up. “—_ _no fighting_ _!"_

_Upon hearing Mrs. Blanchard yelling at them, Kenneth and Mara locked eyes. With apprehension, they both continued to stay silent in the event that their mother would continue scolding them, but they only heard the dull but repeated sound of kitchen knife against cutting board._

_Mara gave him a sheepish look and mumbled, “…thank you for the shirt, though. It feels soft.”]_

On a whim, she decided to go across the street and visit the Cumberbatches. As far as Mara knew, they _shouldn’t_ be doing anything tonight... or so she thought. Checking the time on her phone, she randomly grabbed the wool coat from her coat closet and swiftly put it on. Her fluffy socks were well fitting inside of her brown leather boots.

Mara locked the door behind her; per the standard, she looked both ways before rushing across the street to the home across from her own. The sky was practically matching the colour of her hair by now, and if she tried hard enough, she could see some hints of stars starting to appear.

She knocked on the door and waited patiently, humming a song she heard on the radio earlier.

The door opened with a _click_ and Mara was expecting to face Sophie in her casual clothing or Benedict in _his_ casual clothing. Instead, an elderly woman who was about her height opened the door, and to some extent, Mara felt as if she was staring right at Benedict. The eyes were _uncanny._

“Oh, hello,” the woman greeted with a neutral tone. “May I help you?”

“Yes, uh...” Mara trailed off, peering behind the woman to hopefully find the beloved actor or the theatre director. “Are... Ben or Sophie home by any chance?”

The elderly woman raised a brow. “Who are you, if I may ask?”

Mara gave her a small smile. “Oh, sorry, I should’ve introduced myself first. Uh— I’m Mara, hi, um, I’m their neighbour. I just live right across the street.” She pointed to her home behind her.

Suddenly, the elderly woman’s eyes widened. “ _You’re_ Mara? Benedict says you’re always watching their sons if he and Sophie go out and you _just so happen_ to be home. I don’t mean any offence with my incredulity, but you look rather... _young_. Younger than I thought you would be.”

Mara nodded. “Oh, yeah, I don’t mind looking over the kids if I’m not doing anything. To address your _other_ statement, uh, _yes_ , I’m 26, so I’m quite younger than them...”

“What do you do? Are you also an actor?”

“Heavens, no,” Mara responded, snorting. _Her_ , an actor. As if being some sort of violin "prodigy" couldn't inflate her worldly presence any more. “I’m a professional violin soloist. We _do_ travel a lot, like actors, so I do tend to be away from home pretty often.”

“Er, I see,” Wanda nodded slowly. Mara couldn't tell if the elderly woman liked what she was hearing. “Well, to answer your _first_ question, Benedict and Sophie left to go to a press screening for Benedict’s new film. Some comic book film, but I’ve heard good things about him and the series in general.”

_Of course, I should've known_ , thought Mara. _For Infinity War. _“When do you suppose they’ll be home?”__

Wanda thought for a moment. “Sophie assured that it won’t be long. Do you want me to pass on anything to them when they arrive home?”

“Oh, yes, do you mind telling them that I just came back from Poland? They usually like knowing, but I do it out of courtesy just in case they need someone to look over Kit and Hal while they’re away.”

“I _was_ actually going to ask you about that. They said you were _away_ , so I got a bit confused...”

“Oh, I see what you mean. The flight was only an hour long, and I only came back not too long ago.”

The elderly woman nodded, smirking at her. “I’ll let them know, darling.” She looked Mara up and down briefly, and Mara didn't know if there was anything positive about that action. "So.. how long have you lived here?"

 

* * *

 

Their previous conversation had to end prematurely due to the younger Tom, Tom Holland, quietly announcing that he was heading to the bathroom. Benedict awkwardly stood next to older Tom, who was calmly tapping his foot on the ground and had his hands in his pockets.

The three British men had just started the promotional tour for _Avengers: Infinity War_ , and all day yesterday they completed their first batch of interviews and attended the press screening last night. Today, after live streaming to an American morning news channel, and going off to their own interviews, they had met up again a couple of hours later.

Benedict glanced around him and leaned in a little. He figured that he'd make good use of their time alone by bringing up something that he had been curious about.

It was about the night after Sophie's party back in March. Benedict remembered getting the texts from Tom about Mara, who spoke to him in their 'library' room while she practised. He could also recall how Tom seemed familiar with her. If anything, Benedict would've brought them both over before if he had known that they actually _knew_ each other.

“Hey, Tom,” Benedict announced, getting the bespectacled actor’s attention. “I’m not sure if you even remember, but _I_ remember that we had a conversation over text. It was about you meeting that one woman at Sophie’s party last month, and you thought she was familiar. Did the picture I sent ring a bell or anything? You never responded, so I just wanted to know.”

Tom’s mouth went dry. At this point, he realised that he never replied to Benedict about the issue, because he remembered deleting the convo out of nervousness. A light breeze blew past them.

“Er…” Tom started, making it seem like he was trying to think of what to say. It was half-truthful, but in reality, he _also_ didn't know how he could explain it without making a fool out of himself. “…unfortunately not.” _Liar._

“Hm, I see.” Benedict cleared his throat. If he was confused, he was rather good at hiding it. “So, just someone new?”

Tom was hoping that Benedict didn’t notice how his nerves started acting up. “I— er, yeah. Just… someone new.” He turned away to avoid the older actor from _also_ noticing his cheeks, which turned pink (and Benedict _certainly_ could tell). The embarrassment was not necessarily due to the topic about _her_ in general, but because Tom vividly remembered lying to Benedict in order to eventually obtain that picture in the first place (which was not part of his plans at all), and he felt _terrible_.

He’s been friends with Benedict for almost 10 years now, and even while the two men were awfully close with some crude humour and well-kept secrets, it was still a good thing to maintain some morality (i.e. not lie for the sake of oneself, which he _already_ did). Tom always remembers that time when he got cast as Sir Thomas Sharpe in _Crimson Peak_ , replacing Benedict, and he phoned the man in question to get his permission for doing so. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest, hands fidgeting.

_[Silence. Tom couldn't tell if Benedict was even breathing on the other end of the line. Then, “…are you serious?”_

_Tom pursed his lips together, feeling dread rise up. He couldn’t contain his words any longer. “Er… yes. Ben, I’m_ _so_ _sorry, oh my_ _God_ _—“_

_He abruptly stopped when he heard Benedict starting to laugh through the phone speaker, and raised a brow. Tom was legitimately shocked._

_“Tom!” Benedict announced after he had a good laugh. “It’s fine, really. I fully grant you permission— you’ll do a wonderful job, I’m_ _absolutely_ _sure of it. Don’t worry, I’m not upset at all.”]_

Eventually, the younger Tom returned, walking over to the older men with a grin on his face. Benedict gave him a suspicious look, and older Tom merely blinked down at him. Looking around, younger Tom turned back to them.

“Could I just ask— _right._ So, erm, if it's not too much to ask, are you… erm, are you seeing… someone?” Holland asked, crossing his arms over his chest and looking up at Hiddleston. He almost looked nervous to even _speak_ to him in the first place. The bespectacled actor blinked at him, confused.

Benedict glanced between the both of them. “Why in the world are you asking _that?_ ” He didn't mean to sound so condescending to the younger actor, but it was a rather abrupt question to ask of _all possible questions_.

“Er… could _I_ ask why _you're_ asking? I'm just wondering.” Hiddleston questioned, his tone mixed with curiosity and _nervousness_. _Why was it_ _now_ _of all times where I’m asked about questions related to Mara? It’s just my luck._

“Er… _well, you know_ , there were some rumours about it. When you were walking your dog a couple of weeks ago, apparently you were with someone…? I found a few articles about it out of the blue one day—“

Holland was interrupted by Benedict. “—‘out of the blue’— you mean you _searched him up_?”

“…alright, I get bored sometimes. What, you don’t search up random things when you have nothing else to do?”

“I don’t _search up_ my colleagues, though. There’s a difference.”

“No, you’re right,” Holland agreed, taking out his phone. “But I kept seeing _this_ article linked all over Twitter. Hey, Tom, do you know about it? It’s about you.”

Hiddleston took a deep breath. “What tabloid?”

“Daily Mail.”

Benedict scoffed. “They’re full of _gossip_ — Tom, you know better than to read those articles.”

“Okay, you’re right— _again_ , but who _is_ she, _the_ someone, though?” Holland paused. “Wait, are you fine with me asking? Sorry—“

“No, no, you’re fine,” Hiddleston dismissed. He gestured for the younger actor to come closer. “Can you show me the article you’re talking about?”

Holland handed his phone over to Hiddleston, who quickly read the entire article from last month. Throughout, he could only see pictures of him with Bobby, and Mara with her red puffer jacket who _was_ nearly arm-to-arm with him, as the article suggests. The bespectacled actor felt a little stirring in his abdomen as he kept staring down at the picture of him and Mara, but quickly handed Holland his phone back before the feeling progressed.

It wouldn't have came back to him anyway, since the author of the article blatantly insulted her.  _Unknown? Mara? The nerve they have to talk about her like that. _Hiddleston certainly did  _not_ forget the 'new flame' line.

Benedict peered over Holland’s shoulder to have a quick glance at the pictures and the article. His eyes widened in recognition.

“Why were you with _her_? Mara? The woman from Sophie’s party? I thought she wasn’t familiar to you.”

Hiddleston nearly choked.

_Answer. You need to answer._

“Er, well...” He stammered, feet tapping on the pavement. “We really _did_ meet at Sophie’s party. I ran into her while I was walking Bobby. I just recognised her, that’s all.” _There. That’s not everything, but I don’t exactly want to throw her under the bus, since technically_ _she_ _was the one who was verbal about recognising me first..._

... Benedict had a feeling that _that_ wasn’t all. He was _really_ confused now. Neither did the younger Tom feel like older Tom was telling the truth, even though he had no context whatsoever.

"Erm, anyway," Benedict continued awkwardly, changing the subject. He looked at the time of his phone. "I'm not sure if this is the right time for me to ask, but would you two like to come over for tea? We're done with our round of interviews for today, anyway."

  

* * *

 

Mara glanced right and left as she waited on the pavement, and quickly ran to the other side after realising there were no cars passing by.

After apparently meeting Benedict’s mother yesterday (as Mara discovered), Sophie decided to invite her over sometime in the afternoon just to catch up.

She changed from her sleepwear to a plain black T-shirt with a dark grey wool cardigan, and her shirt was tucked into black jeans. As she waited, she attempted to tame her hair which started turning wavier than she wanted. While doing so, Sophie answered the door. 

“Mara!” Sophie exclaimed, face beaming. She extended her arms out and Mara stepped closer to wrap her arms around the older woman’s shoulders.

“Hi Sophie,” Mara greeted, and Sophie let go of her to usher her inside quickly.

Sophie was dressed in a floral button up shirt with jeans and her ballet flats, so it was a rather casual day for them.

“How was Poland?” Sophie asked as they both headed to the living room and sat down next to each other.

“It was _great_ ,” Mara gushed, wrapping her arms around a throw pillow. “After my performance and podcast in Warsaw, I went around a bit. Visited Kraków as well, but that was at the recommendation of Julian—“

“—the guy you had dinner with?”

She nodded slowly. “...yes. The guy I had dinner with. He’s awfully nice— _oh!_ Fun fact: his manager wants me to star in a music video with Julian.”

“A _music video?_ ” Sophie repeated with wide eyes. “Oh, you are going to have _so_ much fun. My music video days have passed, but it’s _loads_ of fun to shoot. What’s the concept?”

At this, Mara suddenly looked embarrassed, which Sophie noticed instantaneously. “ _Well..._ it’s rather, uh, _abstract_ in a way. There’s going to be more emphasis on colours, so the shots will have blue or red lighting and what not. I’m obviously _not_ singing, but he and I are going to do some scenes together.”

“Together?” Sophie’s eyes glistened with amusement. “Any dancing involved? Acting?”

“Touching. We, uh... we _kinda_ have to be naked. It's… I don't know, it's an art thing.”

All of a sudden, the faint sound of a lock clicking open could be heard, along with the shuffling of feet. Both women ignored it and continued to speak.

She vividly remembered getting the text from her manager on her final days in Warsaw. It was _ridiculous_ , but the podcast earned highly positive reviews that it encouraged both managers to work together to have Mara and Julian work together again. Out of all things, it would end up being a video for one of Julian’s new recorded arias. Filming would take place later on this month in London since the city seemed to be a better location for the project, but Mara didn’t mind doing it during her “break”. Some dignity might be lost, but it shouldn’t be too bad... right?

Well, she hoped her colleagues didn't see it. Or her parents. Close friends (i.e. like Sophie, and maybe only her) might be an exception.

Mara immediately reached a hand out to Sophie, whose air apparently went down the wrong tube. She started to cough hysterically.

“ _Naked?_ ” Sophie exclaimed in a hoarse voice. She regained her composure. “I— I didn’t see you as that type, Mara. Goodness...”

She sighed heavily, feeling her cheeks burn. “ _No_ , because I’m _not._ I mean, I understand the whole thing with _actors_ getting nude on screen... but I’m a _violinist_ at heart. Even if I had music videos, I’m not supposed to lack clothing in any of them.”

Sophie shrugged. “New experience...?” she suggested sheepishly.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m going to outright have my ass out for everyone to see—“ She heard a cough behind her. Sophie pursed her lips as Mara turned around to find Benedict wearing a brown jacket with a matching shirt and jeans. Apparently, he had also brought guests, and her jaw _dropped._

Tom Hiddleston was standing near him, wearing a navy blue jumper, black slim-fit jeans, and grey boots, hands in his pocket and staring intently at her. His eyes were widened, while his ears and cheeks were pink. On the other hand, there was another guy, albeit a bit shorter than the other two men (although Mara wanted to bet that _he_ was still taller than her, too). He was wearing a grey jacket over a white T-shirt and black jeans. Contrastingly, he just looked _confused_. 

He didn’t actually hear her last sentence, but the other Tom _definitely_ did. The older actor _kind of_ wanted some context, but he also tried to get the thought about her showing off any ass… ets, out of his head. Assets— he means assets. Yeah.

Leaning towards Tom, the younger guy started to whisper. He had a puzzled look on his face, but he kept his eyes on Mara. “Who is that?” 

“That’s— er, Sophie’s _friend_ ,” he promptly whispered back, before tightly shutting his eyes closed. _Shouldn’t he have recognised her from the shit article? Actually, I think he'll find out eventually..._

Mara let out a deep breath. She felt her face burning from embarrassment. _Did they really hear me?_

Her suspicions were confirmed. “…er, do I _want_ to know what you two are talking about?” Benedict spoke up, walking over to the two women sitting on the couch. Sophie stood up and greeted her husband, who returned the favour and kissed her briefly. He quickly hugged Mara before stepping away from them. 

Sophie and Mara locked wide eyes. “Er…” Sophie began, trying not to laugh.

Mara turned her head to find Tom and the other guy awkwardly standing on the boundary (i.e. where the flooring changes) between the kitchen and the living room, and she looked back at Benedict with a pitiful expression.

“Perhaps you’ll find out another time,” Mara responded quietly, enough for Benedict and Sophie to hear but inaudible to the two Toms. As Benedict led them past the kitchen and into the dining room, she turned to the older woman in shock.

“Did you know they were coming?” she hissed at Sophie.

She shook her head slowly. “No. I didn’t actually expect Ben to come back _with ‘_ Tom H. squared’.” Mara started, raising a brow at the name Sophie referred to them to.

_ I wonder if he knows about the article yet... _

The older woman decided for them to go in the dining room with the other men, and Sophie greeted Tom and the shorter guy with tight hugs. She had quick chats with them before leaving to go upstairs to the baby room to check on her sons. Benedict swiftly walked out of the dining room and back into the kitchen.

As Mara awkwardly stood near the dining table, she felt uncomfortable by the shorter guy, who just _stared_ at her. Not the neutral stare one would have if they got into a trance, but it was as if he was in the middle of _studying_ her face in particular as if he… recognised her. Mara gave him a small smile, avoiding Tom's occasional glances at her. Tom stood behind Mara at a distance, hands shoved in his pockets. Hints of apprehension were on his face.

The shorter guy slowly glanced between her and Tom and repeatedly done so until his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“… _oh!_ ” He exclaimed, eyebrows raising. “You're… the _girl!_ The one that was with, er, with—“ He then pointed his thumb at Tom, who merely blinked at him as his body stiffened.

Mara smirked at him. "Well, um, hello to you too," she greeted in an amused tone.

_ So, this is what my life has become. _

From the kitchen, Benedict narrowed his eyes at him for pointing, and he dropped his hand. However, he still put a hand out to Mara for her to shake, and she did so.

“You’re the girl… Mara… _oh_ , er, I’m sorry, but I forgot your last name, but they said it in an article—“

“—what is _with you_ and that article, Tom?” Benedict asked incredulously, chuckling.

A thought bubble popped in her head. _This_ was Tom Holland, the MCU's friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. Who was _not_ American, apparently. She wasn’t sure why she forgot who he was— she had seen _Spider-Man: Homecoming_ last year and believed that he captured the persona of comic book Peter Parker quite well. Now, he was standing right in front of her in Benedict Cumberbatch’s dining room and made it very clear that even _he_ knew about the article. And if he did... the chance of older Tom knowing about it was  _very_ likely.

Then, another question came up. How would _that_ article come up in one of their conversations? Did that mean that one of them brought her up? If so, which one did?

She ignored the palpitation in her heart.

_Well… time to go die now._

“Blanchard,” Mara promptly answered for him, and in response, he nodded and pointed a finger gun at her in acknowledgement. Her cheeks turned pink, admittedly amused by his actions.  _He's a bit awkward, but it's kinda cute, ya know? Like… like in a kid sort-of way. I don't know. Most people I meet are older than me, so this is a bit different than what I'm used to…_

Benedict was about to scold him _again_ for pointing. At the very least, he gave him a stern look. Seeing Holland back off, Mara raised a brow before turning around to find Benedict observing them. He gave her a knowing look, and she responded with a small smile. She turned back once the young man started to speak again.

“Right, right, erm…” Holland trailed off, immediately bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “Sorry, _hi_ , I’m probably coming off as some sort of _nutter—_ “

Mara snorted, and Hiddleston, the older Tom, glanced down at her in surprise.

She smiled at him, albeit a bit awkwardly. “No, no, you’re fine. Uh, I guess I’m gonna have to get used to people making a connection between me and _that_ article from now on…” Her eyes slowly travelled to the floor.

Holland blinked, particularly in shock by her voice. “Wait… you’re _American?_ I mean, no offence, though— I got the impression that you were English, too.”

_ Me? English? I would die._

“Nope,” Mara confidently replied. She emphasised her accent a bit more. “Bred and raised in the good ole United States.”

“That’s _so_ cool,” Holland gushed. “Sorry, if you, er, if ever you heard me in the Marvel movies. Have you seen them?" When Mara nodded enthusiastically, he continued. "My American accent probably sounds _completely_ fake to someone like you.”

“No, no!” She denied this, smiling at him. “It sounded _completely_ believable to me. Actually, I have to admit— I actually thought you _were_ American. You definitely sounded like a New Yorker. Was it… what, Queens, I think?”

Holland enthusiastically nodded. “Yeah! I practised that accent _every_ day while filming. I even had to go to, er, this high school _in_ Queens, just to have experience in an ‘American’ school.” He stopped to think for a second. “Are _you_ from New York?”

She donned a contemplative face. “…no. I _am_ from the East Coast, though. My hometown is probably about 3 hours away from Queens, I think…”

Older Tom felt strange. He started to get twinges of… something. It was eating at him, and he didn't know if it was something he could suppress any longer.

It sparked particularly when he looked over at Mara casually getting along with Holland, who seemed to be _seriously_ interested in their current conversation. Always asking questions, always curious. Normally, he'd be amused by the young man's enthusiasm, but this time he wasn’t feeling it for some reason. She always answered with much gusto, apparently fine with the topics that would be a bit iffy to bring up on the first time you meet someone. They both started to get closer to one another, as two close friends would. Tom couldn't help but notice the smaller height difference between them, their eyes almost at level with one another. While speaking, they started to laugh hysterically. Mara lightly bumped his shoulder in a playful manner.

…Older Tom was going to yell— actually, he _would_ have, had he not been in Benedict’s house at the moment _with_ said person and his family. And his co-star that he was totally  _not_ jealous of. And his… acquaintance. 

There was _no_ way he should be getting _jealous_ , of all emotions, of his beloved co-star. Someone who was currently getting to know the woman he’s been wanting to speak with alone for _weeks_ to hopefully… _befriend_ her (even though deep down, Tom wasn’t actually sure about that). But _no_ , they only _actually_ spoke twice. Tom had been looking forward to increasing that number.

Yet, the time where he _could_ speak with her would possibly never happen due to Holland's… interference. Older Tom knew he must've sounded like an arse, but if he had to be honest,  _he_ wanted to be the one to speak with Mara. He met her first. He… sounds  _really_ possessive. He needed to take a deep breath; to him,  _he_ sounded like a nutter.

His mind couldn't avoid the topic. _A_ _s far as he knew_ , Mara had never met the guy in her life, so this was just first impressions, right? But he didn’t want to think about the fact that Holland was closer in age to Mara than _he_ was, which made him a bit uneasy. A question popped up in his head. Did she care about men younger than her? Older than her? Did age matter to her? He didn't know, but all of… _this_ started to irritate him and there was an imbedded instinct to _not_ let it go unnoticed.

“Tom,” Hiddleston spoke up through gritted teeth, and both Holland and Mara looked over at him. He attempted to sound calm, but even he didn’t think he was successful in doing so. Mara raised a brow at how tense he was, based on how much his jaw was clenched and the _vein_ popping out on his neck. “Er, I think you’ve asked a bit… _too_ much about the poor girl.”

Benedict blinked at Tom, suddenly feeling the tension radiating off of older Tom. _Why is he…_

_...does he like Mara?_  

Mara shook her head, genuinely confused by his tenseness.  _What's up with him?_

“It’s alright, Tom. I really don’t mind— he's pretty cool.” She gave both Toms a small smile, lips glossed. 

Older Tom noted that he’s never seen her wearing lip gloss before. He couldn’t stop staring at her lips.

“No, actually, I think _this_ Tom—“ Benedict briefly gestured at the bespectacled actor from the kitchen, frankly shaken by the oncoming thoughts that he started to have about said actor. “—is right. Let her breathe, Holland.” He tittered.

She glanced at him pitifully, and Holland raised his hands up in defence. While laughing, Benedict walked over to the dining table with a platter of fruit, slices of bread, sliced meats, and cheeses (in which case, the meats and cheeses were for everyone _but_ Benedict). He quickly retreated back to the kitchen to make tea to accompany the finger foods. The two men calmly sat down, and Mara headed back into the kitchen to get small round plates from the cabinet.

“I didn’t get the chance to ask earlier, but how are you?” Benedict asked as he turned on the stove for the kettle.

“Oh, I’m good,” Mara responded as she counted out 5 plates. “How are you? I tried to visit you guys yesterday..."

Benedict snickered. "I'm also good. I'm  _also_ aware that you met my mother yesterday, but we had to ask her to come over since you were still in Poland."

"Right, right," she said, nodding. "I must've returned after you asked her to do that, but it's okay. What tea are you making?"

“Earl Grey. ‘Tom H. squared’’s favourite.”

She took a deep breath. “ _Who_ are you even referring to? Sophie said the same thing. What does that even mean?”

It was at this moment that Benedict realised that to him, she probably didn’t know who the younger Tom was at all (which was a lie). He remembered when she briefly met the older Tom at Sophie’s party last month, but he doubts that they know each other well enough (which was _also_ a lie). “…you’ll find out soon enough,” he cheekily replied, and she rolled her eyes in amusement. "I'm just kidding. Their initials are both 'T.H.', thus 'Tom H. squared'."

She gave Benedict a deadpanned look. "You actors are _so_ weird. When I stopped by, your mom asked me if I was an actor too and I was like  _yeah, um, no._" Upon hearing this, Benedict burst out laughing.

Mara returned to the dining room to find Holland already biting into a roll of bread and Hiddleston calmly sitting. At the sight of the stack of plates in her arms, Hiddleston immediately stood up to help her pass them out.

“Here you go,” she offered, smiling up at him. The bespectacled actor flashed a grin back at her as he took it, and their eyes locked for a bit. Holland narrowed his eyes at them mid-chewing, and Mara suddenly remembered that he needed a plate. She hastily gave one to him, which he awkwardly thanked her for. Mara hoped he didn't notice how her cheeks turned pink.

_I_ _don’t_ _think_ _I_ _should_ _mention_ _the_   _article_   _right_ _now..._

“You good?” Holland whispered to Hiddleston, finishing his first roll of bread. The bespectacled actor realised that he was referring to what just happened between him and Mara, and he nodded as if nothing actually happened. He hoped the younger actor didn’t see how _his_ ears turned pink again.

Young Tom was oblivious at times,  _he_ himself could admit, but he  _definitely_ noticed the tension between them. He didn't say anything, though. Mara was pretty nice, even though he had no clue how she knew everyone in the house.

Mara situated herself, calmly getting herself bread and a few slices of meat and cheese. Hiddleston mirrored her actions, not wanting to eat until he saw her eat out of courtesy. He studied the hot-pink plaster wrapped around her finger, which contrasted against the grey and black hues she was wearing.

She glanced at Holland’s plate. “Do you want any cheese? I didn’t see you get any.”

He shook his head. “Oh, no thank you. I’m not a huge fan of cheese.”

“ _That_ kind in particular?”

“No, _all_ of them.”

She nodded, amused. “Hm, I see. Well, how are you, Tom?” Now, she was addressing Hiddleston.

“I’m _great_ , actually.” He locked eyes with her again. “How are you?”

“Actually, I’m also pretty good. I just came back from Warsaw, Poland yesterday after being there for… uh, almost two weeks and it was great—“

“Hello, I’ve got the tea,” Benedict calmly announced, holding a teapot in one hand and a small container for milk. Based on what Mara knew, he and Sophie aren’t exactly like those aggressively English fellows who make time in the day (every day) to have a formal tea break, so she bets that Benedict himself probably doesn’t even remember the last time he served tea to a couple of guests. He briefly left and came back with cups for everyone.

Benedict situated himself and poured tea for everyone. After Mara briefly spoke about her visit to Poland, the three men started to speak about their interviews, and also indulged Mara on some details about the promo tour (even though she didn’t really understand all that well). Eventually, they ended up changing the subject again.

“So,” Holland began, grabbing some slices of meat. “I want to get to know _you_ , Ben’s wife’s friend.” He pointed at Mara. “If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from?”

“Well, I’m from Cambridge,” Mara began, sipping some of her tea. Hiddleston’s eyebrows shot up, heart beating faster. _Cambridge? She probably moved to the city first and_ _then_ _moved to London. Oh, what if she an alumnus of the university? Like me? She probably stayed in Clare College; that’s where all the musicians were. Is it fate? What—_

“Wait, there’s a city named Cambridge here in England, too, I _totally_ forgot. I meant Cambridge, _Massachusetts_. United States of America. You know, the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.”

Hiddleston blinked. _Er— never mind._

She continued on, shrugging. “Although, besides having the same name, _obviously,_ they both house some _seriously_ good universities. I guess there’s that.”

“What universities are there?” Benedict asked, splitting a slice of bread.

Mara paused, thinking for a moment. “Well… I remember living _really_ close to Harvard. I mean _really_ close. Walking distance. Oh, and there’s _Tony Stark's alma mater_ MIT, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology—“

“ _Harvard?_ ” Holland repeated, eyes widening. “I mean, I don’t really know much about your school system or anything, nor did I even _go to college_ yet, but isn’t Harvard, like, one of those prestigious schools? Or, like, the best school in the world? _One of_ the best?”

Mara reluctantly nodded. _Not_ that Harvard University didn't deserve the praise for its output, but she had heard this same information when it was college application season, the bane of her teenage self's existence. “Mhm. It’s one of the Ivy League schools. Ivy League is just the name of the association that groups all of these ‘prestigious schools’ on the East Coast.”

“And you just treat it like some supermarket across the street.” He wasn’t really asking a question.

She shrugged nonchalantly, almost seeming disinterested. “It’s no big deal. It’s a school. There are _loads_ of good schools on the East Coast.”

“ _You_ always act _so_ nonchalantly about that!” Sophie exclaimed as she walked into the dining room from the kitchen. “Living and growing up near one of the most renowned schools in the _world_. Owning an instrument that probably costs more than _both_ of our homes combined—”

“—no, I got it on _loan_ ,” Mara corrected, looking at the older woman in disbelief. “Do you think I’d actually make enough in, like, two years or so to _buy_ a violin that _does_ cost more than both of our homes combined? Even if I was travelling every single day of the year doing solo _and_ chamber work.”

"What do you mean you got it on  _loan_? The instrument?" Holland asked curiously. "You can do that? They just give you that for free?”

Mara nodded, hoping that she doesn't come off as a braggart. She hadn't expected this question, anyway. "Well, yes. Actually, you kinda sign up for it, but I apparently met all of the Nippon Music Foundation's pre-requisites— that’s a foundation I’m particularly fond of— and I got it just last year. It sounds _amazing_  but on its own, it’s ridiculously expensive.  _You know—_ my house and my car should've made me broke by now."

_ Then why'd you move here , huh? _

“Houses _are_ expensive in this district, though,” Hiddleston added, sipping his tea. “In mine, as well.”

“In _London_ , in general. Well, it depends on where you are _and_ how you spend your money, I guess,” Holland commented, shrugging. 

After sitting down next to Mara, the older woman reached out to grab some bread. “I brought the kids down,” Sophie whispered to her, who beamed in response.

“Are they in the living room?” Mara asked excitedly. She drank more of her tea, ignoring how her taste buds were practically being burned off. “I need to finish all of this quickly. I haven’t seen them in _days. Weeks._ Months?My God.”

"You'll have plenty of time, don't _choke_ from eating too quickly," Benedict jokingly warned as he ate.

The five adults continued to speak about some mundane topics, like the weather (Holland thought this was a weird one), but the conversation about the promotional tour went on, now including Benedict and Sophie, as they weren't in the room earlier when it first started. Lively chatter and laughter filled the room and continued on as older Tom occasionally sneaked more glances at Mara, which were _not_ left unnoticed by Benedict.

 

* * *

 

“Ooh, and what is this?” Mara asked curiously, pointing down at the little red plastic container.

After wolfing down all of her food, much to the amusement of Sophie, Mara had rushed into the living room. There, she was greeted by the giggles from the Cumberbatches' eldest and precocious son, but their youngest son only allowed her to let him sit on her lap.

“Cookie water,” Kit replied nonchalantly. He put the red bowl on the coffee table and brought the green one over to Mara.

“And this is…?”

The 3-year-old stared up at her. “Cookie water,” he repeated confidently. Mara slowly nodded, adjusting the younger son so he sat more comfortably in her lap. Again, the eldest walked over to the coffee table and grabbed the blue bowl, and brought it over to the brunette woman.

She peered inside of it. “What have you brought for me now?”

“Cookie water.”

She blinked, attempting to suppress a smile, and glanced over at Sophie. “ _Wow_ , what a varied menu, um…” she commented in amusement, and Sophie chuckled, gesturing at her eldest son to come sit on her lap.

Hiddleston decided to sit down next to Mara, who didn’t mind the extra company. Benedict, on the other hand, led younger Tom to the foyer, as he announced that he had to go home. She swore she heard him talk about a dog named Tessa, but she didn't dwell on it much further.

Gently holding Hal’s arm, Mara cooed at the baby sitting in her lap. She realised that he was starting to look a lot more like Sophie, except that his hair grew rather quickly and resembled Benedict’s naturally curly hair. She kept smiling at him as she also attempted to pry his hands away from his mouth.

Poking his cheeks lightly, she tapped older Tom on the shoulder and gestured for the baby to look at him.

“Hal, look. He has the same hair as you, see?”

Tom chuckled, starting to coo at him too. It almost seemed like he _did_ notice the similarity in their hairstyles because he started reaching for the curls on top of Tom’s head.

“No, no,” Tom said, laughing as he gently grabbed his wrist, the same one that Mara was holding. He ended up wrapping his hand over some of Mara’s hand as well, and they locked eyes. Both looking dumbfounded, Tom immediately lowered his hand and Mara suppressed a nervous chuckle.

_This is about as cliché as it gets, man._

"Er, if you don't mind me asking, what happened to your finger?" Tom asked, gesturing down at the hot-pink plaster. _Do_ _not_ _mention_ _that_ _article_! _I_ _doubt_ _she_ _would_ _want_ _to_ _hear_ _about_ _that_ _right_ _now._

Mara suddenly looked at her left hand as if she had forgotten about it. "Oh _—_ um, it's a pretty dumb reason. Yeah, I just cut myself on accident while slicing an orange."

"Oh dear," he responded, giving her a worried look. His brows creased. "Are you okay?"

Her breathing slowed down at the sight of him giving her  _that_ look. "I _— uh_ , yeah. I'm _—_ I'm fine. It'll heal quickly..." She turned away, biting the inside of her cheek as she became flustered.

While Mara cooed at the baby again (and _seriously_ tried to avoid the fact that Tom _held_ her hand… kind of), Tom started to think of how she would be as a mother. She kept smiling and giggling along with Hal as if she was his own mother, and it didn’t help that if anything, Hal could easily be mistaken as his own son (especially since Sophie has straight hair, and Benedict straightens his own curly hair).

…Tom had to stop for a second. _That is bloody weird. What are you_ _doing_ _?! Imagining a life with her already? You haven’t even known her for an entire month, and you’re thinking about fathering her children. Pull yourself_ _together_ _—_

Tom hastily excused himself from the room, and Benedict allowed him to do so despite being puzzled by his abrupt departure. Mara, too, raised a brow at his actions. She decided to stand up while holding Hal, but a quick look at Benedict's stern face signalled  _not_ to go after him. Mara took a deep breath, sitting back down to distract herself with the baby in her lap. 

The actor stomped down the hall, the heels of his shoes making thuds on the ebony hardwood floor. Running a hand through his hair, he opened the full lite door of the home office and closed the door behind him. Out of nowhere, he groaned loudly but then paused as he remembered that this room was _not_ soundproof at all. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his face and sat down on the corner couch in the room.

He leaned back, knees and legs spread apart (which he couldn’t control), and he put his glasses back on. His focus was mainly on the wall of books that Sophie and Benedict maintained until he remembered _why_ excused himself. He didn't notice how Mara wanted to go after him.

_Her_. Mara. The American woman. The woman who was ridiculously good at violin. The woman with the nice laugh and pretty face. The woman who was substantially shorter than him. The woman who was blunt enough to talk about showing off her bottom to— _who?_ What?

Tom mentally cursed— he felt _disgusting_ for outright viewing her like she’s only pale skin and flesh and he was only an aroused man who wanted _that_. He only had to hear her talk a couple of times to understand how grounded she was. It wasn’t often that Tom met younger people exposed to fame at a young age to _still_ be down-to-Earth and… well, _not_ be an arsehole. The other Tom, who left earlier, is a good example, he thought. He was at least 15 years younger than him but he still acted like every other sensible young man in their early 20’s and never let the fame get to his head.

Mara was a decade younger than him, and while age was never really an issue with him (since he’s acted with and _dated_ women years older or younger), he didn’t actually know how their situation would work. He didn't even know if  _she_ was fine with that. The woman wasn’t even 30 yet, and from his own experience, he got _every_ possible opportunity he could get his hands on when he was her age. Tom doubted she would want to disrupt her flow of success for someone like him, 10 years older and having experienced a great deal more in the last decade. For _someone_ , in general. Telling himself that hurt a bit, but he figured that he wasn’t wrong.

_You’re always away from London. From home. Doing projects, promotional tours, and whatnot. Do you honestly think_ _you_ _have time to settle down? Do you think_ _she_ _does? You need to be realistic— don’t lie to yourself. You won’t be able to satisfy her because of how often you’re gone. I—_ _no_ _, not in that way—_

“Tom?” a muffled voice called out.

His eyes darted to Benedict, who was standing outside of the room. The older actor opened the door and quietly closed it behind him.

“Are you alright? You sort of… _ran_ off,” Benedict amusedly pointed out. When he didn’t see much amusement on Tom’s face, Benedict immediately had a more serious demeanour.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Tom brushed off, purposely not making eye contact with his friend. The older actor sat on the shorter side of the L-shaped couch, giving him a slightly worried look.

"Really?” Benedict asked, not believing him at all. Tom's eyes landed on him. “You _know_ it’s not that difficult for me to tell. I _know_ that you _hate_ having people see you when you’re down, but _I_ should at least have some right to ask about it.”

Tom took a deep breath, heart palpitating. “I’m _really_ sorry,” he began, rubbing his temples. “I’m just not… I don’t know. I _really_ don’t.”

For the first time in _years_ , Tom _really_ didn’t know what to do with his life. The last time he felt this way was… well, when his parents divorced at least 2 decades ago. It was a rare occurrence and his thoughts weren’t pretty when he felt this way. There were other… _recent_ events that caused him to get quite close to this boundary, but he figured that at this point, he’s _long_ surpassed the fence. 

Benedict lightly patted his shoulder. “Alright, well, let me just ease you into it, if that’s fine.” He got the green light from Tom since he nodded. “Did someone or something put you off?”

_ Like, I don't know, my neighbour? _

…Tom  _had_ to be honest. If he really wanted to keep conversing with Benedict and pass the time while  _she_ was still here, he might as well divulge some information.

“Er, _yes_ , actually.” He scratched the back of his head. “This never really happens, but…"

Well… maybe Benedict didn’t _have_ to know the whole truth, he thought. Like the fact that Tom was referring to his neighbour, of all people. Except that Tom _didn’t_ know that the person that he was talking about was currently only a room and a hallway away, genuinely confused as to why he left the room so quickly.

But Benedict definitely knew what was going on with Tom, anyway. He had always been good at reading people, especially people he was close to.

_No_ , it was not because of Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter has been edited and revised on 01/09/19.**   
>  (I changed a shitload, though.)


	6. April, 2018: 2

Tom leaned with a hand against the beige textured fabric wall, staring through the ceiling to floor windows at the busy streets down below. He could see the Ilmin Museum of Art almost across the street from where their hotel was, and he remembered that he promised to himself that he’d travel more intensively around Seoul this time. Looking down at his phone, Tom checked the time. _17:23_

_I really want to visit that bookstore near the Gwanghwamun Station across the street… let’s see if I have time tomorrow morning since I’m starting to feel a bit fatigued already—_

“It should be, er, _morning_ time back in England, right?” Benedict’s voice interrupted his thoughts. 

The bespectacled actor turned around to face him. “I believe we’re ahead by 9 hours, so…” Tom tried to calculate in his head, but Benedict beat him to it.

“It’s 8 AM back in London, then. That’s great.” Benedict walked over to the walk-in closet, getting his backpack. He pulled out his laptop from the designated compartment.

Setting it at the desk, which happened to sit in front of one of the tall windows, he turned it on and eventually logged in. “She better be awake…” Benedict muttered, rolling his eyes.

Tom situated himself at the desk after grabbing a chair from the other half of the suite.

In about 2 hours, Tom and Benedict were going to join the younger Tom and French actress Pom Klementieff for a red-carpet event in Seoul, but Benedict wanted to catch up with Tom for a bit by inviting him to his hotel room beforehand.

The entirety of the hotel screamed _sophisticated_ , with dark marble floors and leather furniture in the lobby. A theme of browns, blacks, and beiges was everywhere until they reached their floors, where their agents had apparently booked [business-level suites](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/182851476273/city-view-executive-suite-four-seasons-seoul) for them. Yellow-green carpeting with beige-coloured fabric walls filled the 3-‘room’ suite, with a little beige-brown lounging area in case if they wanted to invite a few people over for drinks. Arrangements of flowers were on every open surface— the coffee table, the desk, the nightstand, even the marble vanity of the bathroom. A king bed was in the centre of one of the rooms, and a large angular pillar was about half a metre away from the foot of the bed with a flat-screen television installed. The desk was on the left of the pillar, but an armchair with an ottoman was on its right. 

Tom was still in the taupe suit that he wore for the press conference earlier in the morning and at noon, and Benedict was _also_ wearing his geometric-patterned navy blue jacket over a white shirt… casual clothes.

“Who are you speaking to? Sophie?” Tom asked once he saw Benedict open Skype.

Benedict shook his head. “Unfortunately not. Sophie went out for breakfast with a director and they’ll be discussing a few… er, _prospects_ for a future performance that she’ll probably direct— if she likes it enough. I’m going to check up on my neighbour since they’re watching over Kit and Hal while Sophie’s gone for the morning.” He hastily scrolled and tapped the tracking pad to call. Tom didn’t see who it was.

Benedict’s phone started vibrating in his pocket. Fishing for it, he squinted at its screen. “It’s my agent—“ He blinked at the laptop, showing the blue loading screen. “—just... it’ll be quick. You can just stay, Tom, I’ll be back in a minute. If my neighbour picks up, just tell them I’m on the phone.” And he stood up, happily greeting his agent.

While he started to hear his agent speak, Benedict blanched.  _Wait. I'm Skyping Mara. She'll be the one to pick up _…__

Tom was now left alone at the desk in the hotel room, and out of habit he briefly turned his phone on to check for any important notifications— nothing interested him. Soon enough, Benedict’s neighbour picked up, and Tom glanced up to only find them standing up, now seeing the top of a grey couch and what looked like a chandelier that vaguely resembled the one in Benedict’s house... which to him made sense. They’re neighbours, so their houses will pretty much look identical—

Through the speakers, Tom could hear humming, and he stared at the screen as Benedict’s neighbour walked back to sit on the couch. Four grey envelopes in clear packaging and yellow tweezers in her hand, and she angled the lower bout of the violin in her lap. As she put a lock of hair behind her ear, Tom’s jaw dropped.

His neighbour was _Mara._

Yeah, Benedict nor Sophie mentioned this at all. It would've been nice to know _before_ this happened.

But this also meant... for the last few years that Tom had been visiting Benedict and Sophie at their home, the woman with the violin was in his proximity the _entire_ time without him knowing. Those days, she could’ve been lounging, cooking, watching her television, reading, practising for her next performance… anything he’d do on particularly uninteresting days. He could’ve knocked on her door each time to say _hello_ if he wanted to... and if he _knew_.

Now, all Tom could see through the screen was Mara leaning over, eyes wide open as she used the yellow tweezers on her violin. He didn’t know what she was doing exactly, but it only took him another second to realise that he could see her cleavage completely through her black tank top. Well, she was wearing a mustard yellow knit cardigan over it, but her tank top, unfortunately, didn’t hide much.

Mara plucked a string and turned the black peg at the scroll of the violin (Tom only referred to it as the ‘loopy part’) after cringing at the sound. To him, she didn’t notice that Tom was currently on the other end, suit pants currently feeling much tighter in the front.

Tom cleared his throat, becoming absolutely flustered. He ended up startling her and she shot up.

“ _Oh—_ “ She gasped in _that_ tone, which was really of shock, but unfortunately sounded much more suggestive. Tom was mentally cursing at himself for having his blood run down south instead of… well, _everywhere else_ on his body.

For only a couple of seconds, Mara and Tom locked eyes without saying anything, and he could tell that she was actually a bit confused. If anything, he was silently grateful that she _didn’t_ know that he was currently aroused.

_Why do we keep_ _doing_ _that?! Staring at each other for, like, 10 billion years?_ Mara was currently having a mental argument with her conscience. _Well… you like his eyes, don’t you? Keep staring at them sister._

“I… you’re not _Ben_ ,” she observed lamely, and Tom pursed his lips, nodding. He couldn’t help but notice how flustered _she_ became. “Thought he wanted to talk…” Mara took note of how _fucking_ attractive he looked in his taupe suit but kept a generally straight face to not make this any weirder. She attempted to _not_ shift around in her seat on the couch.

“ _No_ , he does— trust me,” Tom interjected, sounding a bit nervous. “He’s on the phone right now with his agent—“ He shifted the laptop to his left, where Benedict was currently talking on the phone with an amused tone, and moved it back. “— and I just so happen to be with him.”

“Ah, I see,” Mara nodded as she kept turning the peg. Her teeth gritted. “Sorry, this is probably a bit of a weird moment…” With the tweezers, she pointed at the violin still in her free hand. A hot pink-coloured plaster was still on her finger, like the one Tom saw earlier in the month.

“Right, erm…” Tom briefly glanced down, hoping his arousal could _go away_ and temporarily disappear into the abyss. “What _are_ you doing, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She turned her violin around, and Tom realised that there were only 2 strings with purple silk winding on the fingerboard, creating a wide gap between the thickest and thinnest strings.

“Just replacing my violin strings. It’s a monthly deal.” Mara picked up the packaging for the other two strings, a light grey envelope with a black _pi_ symbol. He was mildly surprised that he retained his knowledge of the Greek alphabet well enough.

“You do it so… _meticulously_. I mean, with the tweezers… is that actually necessary? I didn’t know.”

Mara shrugged, lightly strumming the strings. “Installing them perfectly with tweezers helps prolong their life a bit. Spending almost £85 on a set of strings a month seems a bit ghastly when you’ve got groceries and bills… normal ‘adult’ purchases, but I’ve got critics at every show. They’ll _hear_ if I haven’t changed my strings.”

Tom _tsked_ and Mara couldn’t help but snort. “You know, in theatre… or even films, we’re not supposed to be _too_ caught up in even _one_ bad review for one performance. I would assume it would be the same for you, in the music world. You just… move on. Prove them wrong if it’s what you want. I mean— _I_ certainly wanted to prove them wrong, but don’t be too self-righteous towards the matter, you’re not helping yourself much.”

“Yeah, no, I _totally_ agree,” Mara responded. “You see, when I was probably about, uh… 18 or 19, I entered this international violin competition, named after this violinist Yehudi Menuhin— _anyway_ , well, not to sound boastful, but I sorta _won_ …”

“Oh, wow,” he admired, despite already knowing this _when I searched her up last month!_ Tom pulled off his surprised look rather well. “Congratulations, even though that was, er, _almost_ 10 years ago.” He flashed a grin at her.

Mara blushed, thanking him. She went on. “Okay, well, even though I won, I’ve gotten a few reviews about my playing style— how I ‘interpreted’ the music was in need of improvement, they said, but I apparently also did _not_ look visually appealing to them.”

Tom’s eyebrows furrowed. “Visually appealing? How so?”

“Basically, I didn't thrash myself around or anything while I perform. I didn’t play ‘aggressively’ unless I _had_ to, which apparently wasn’t enough.” Mara rolled her eyes at the sudden memory of one particular review. “Have you seen those violinists looking off into the distance while they play, _really_ leaning back or front, feet constantly tapping in their spot? If it’s something done instinctively while playing passionately, that’s completely fine, but you’re supposed to come to an orchestra performance to _listen_ to music. It shouldn’t have to be a purely visual sort of thing.”

“Anyway, I’ve been told since I started high— _secondary_ school that I play like a robot, even if I instinctively make faces and occasionally sway. But not only that, my technique was fine, they said, but my interpretations were lacking any emotion. I don’t do anything outrageous— I just play and listen to what’s around me. I don’t need any extra movements or fake, exaggerated aggression to look or sound more ‘appealing’ or ‘entertaining’… I’m ‘better’ now, but how _I_ interpreted my music and how the composer wanted it to sound like should’ve been sufficient.”

For a moment, Tom was silent. He could tell that this was something that bothered her, hearing the underlying tone of resentment. However, he couldn’t help but notice how similar she was to him here, despite obviously not being in the same profession. There seemed to be a bit of overlap— when they were both in their teens, they, unfortunately, were subject to critics blatantly yelling _inexperience_ in their ears. They followed whatever guidelines the writer/composer gave them, even if they were vague, but overall added their own flair which was still criticised anyway. Tom figured that she must’ve gotten hung up over a few unpleasant reviews… and he wouldn’t deny that even _he_ stayed up a few nights wondering what he did wrong for them to be _that_ brutal to him. 

At this very moment, he wanted to be in London, knock the front door of her home— _near_ _Benedict’s house_ , and give her a hug, consoling her for hours on end if she needed it. Alternatively, he wanted to find all of the critics and shove the video of her during the final round of the competition in their faces. He thought it was ridiculous how they claimed she had _no_ emotion— he thought he had heard the whole spectrum on that excerpt he had watched, anyway.

Instead, he regained his composure in Benedict’s hotel room in Seoul, merely looking at her on a screen while she was situated in a different continent, as they both attempted to embrace the sudden yet solemn turn the conversation went to.

“I used to get those sort of reviews, as well,” Tom contributed, giving her a look of pity. “While I was attending RADA— the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art— for the first few years, I’ve gotten comments about my age, my acting ability… or _lack thereof_ , how I showed _too_ much emotion, how I showed too _little_ , my body language… the most minuscule things I’ve done on stage are scrutinised.”

At this, she felt a tug at her heart. _He’s experienced it too…_

Mara stared at him, appalled. “Critics said that about you? You’re an _outstanding_ actor, though— I can’t deny how electrifying all of your performances I’ve seen have been, even if I haven’t seen a lot, to be honest… if anything, I’ve seen you show more emotion in a split second than I’ve seen on other actors for _years_. You’re… exceptional. How old were you at that time?”

Tom blushed, his cheeks and ears turning pink. “I— _thank you_ , really. Well, when that happened… I was probably in my early 20’s, so a _long_ time ago.” Mara’s brows raised in surprise. “Er, anyway, I know I haven’t exactly heard you play—“ _Liar_ , he told himself. “—since the first time I heard you, you sounded a bit irritated and stopped early...”

She tittered a bit. “Goodness, I forgot about that. Kind of irritating when you’re messing up something that you have to perform later that night— well, I— I swear I had it memorised already, though. Just tweaking a few stylistic things.”

“You _memorised_ all of that?” Tom asked, eyebrows shooting up. “That entire book?” He briefly leaned back in his chair.

“Yeah. I learned it when I was, like, 12. Actually, I _begged_ my teacher to let me learn it. He said I had to go through at least 5 other _concertos_ — solo pieces with an orchestra— before I could learn the one by Felix Mendelssohn, the one you heard me play in the Cumberbatches’ ‘library room’, and the one I ultimately performed here in London last month.”

“Felix Mendelssohn...” He repeated, trailing off. “You— you said your dog back in America’s name was Felix, right?”

She turned the peg for the next string she had installed while they talked. “Oh, you remember! Yeah... I sort of... _named_ my dog after a composer. That makes me sound _really_ weird, but I’ve had him since he was an _itty bitty_ puppy, and since I was a hormonal teenager. Was a good combination.” Tom laughed at her words. She could feel her stomach fluttering from the thought of him actively remembering everything she said before.

Mara continued. “You know, I should be complimenting _you_. You’ve memorised entire scripts for films and plays— I’m assuming for _years—_ and you’ve performed them _so_ incredibly well too. _How?_ ”

“I...” Tom combed a hand through his hair. “I— I’m not sure if that’s a particularly... _strong_ suit of mine— it’s not like I memorise scripts the moment I _touch_ them…” 

He stopped when Mara gave him a deadpanned expression. “What?”

“You’re being modest _now_ , of all times?” She asked in amusement. “I’m joking. It’s cute.” 

He tried to brush off the fact that she just called him _cute._ She flashed a grin at him, and Tom returned the favour.

Cue brief but awkward silence.

Suddenly hearing the lack of conversation, Benedict swiftly turned around to eye the desk area while still holding the phone to his ear. His eyes landed on Tom for a bit before shrugging and turning away again.

“What _have_ you seen me in, by any chance?” Tom asked, bringing up a new topic. He felt a bit bad, though. _I sound absolutely _ _arrogant! What movies have you seen with my face in them? Did you like them? You better have!_

“Well...” Mara pondered, not minding the _vaguely_ egotistical question. “I’ve seen you in the Marvel movies, like _a lot_ of other people. To be honest, I’m not particularly caught up with your recent filmography, but I’ve seen a lot of your older films— there was this one I forgot the name of, I think where this character, a girl, she starts hanging out with your character and the other younger people and smokes a bunch of pot—“

“— _Unrelated_?” Tom remembered, laughing at her description. “You weren’t joking, that’s _really_ old— released 11 years ago… well, for a film festival, at least. I recall you saying earlier that you’re 26 right now, which means…”

She understood where this was going. “I saw it when I was 16— a few months before my 17th birthday. It _was_ released in early 2008 in the States, though. When it _did_ release, I think for limited showing, I actually had an English… well, slash _German_ friend show it to me— it was wonderful.”

_[“Why don’t we make the beginning of the piece quieter and build up in volume? I think that would sound more interesting,” 16-year-old Mara suggested._

_She was currently at her aunt’s home in Baltimore, Maryland, where she invited a friend over to practice for a duet that they were going to perform at their semester-end recital. At the moment, they were both standing in front of music stands with taped sheets of printed music. Mara had met her at a summer music camp the previous year and quickly found out that performance-wise, they were practically at the same level._

_Mara was marking a few notes when Caroline changed the whole topic. “Do you want to see a movie with me?” she asked, her German accent evident. She absentmindedly strummed the strings of her violin._

_“…um,” the brunette started, putting her HB pencil down. She raised a brow at her. “What… movie…?”_

_Enjoying films was something both Mara and Caroline had in common, and either wouldn’t deny about the times they’d “finish practising early” in order to kill time by watching movies. Recently, Caroline had been giving Mara horror film recommendations, not realising that Mara was rather faint-hearted. Mara hoped that her nervousness was obvious to her._

_Caroline tamed her mousy brown-coloured curly hair with her free hand. “After I visited my mum in Munich, I was visiting my dad in Manchester last year, you know, and him being a film critic and all, he took me to London to a film festival. Out of all the screenings he allowed me to go to because he didn’t want me wandering off talking to directors, we saw this one by this lady, Joanna Hogg, called_ _Unrelated_ _.”_

_“It’s the best movie I’ve ever seen. I begged my dad to speak with her afterwards since she was there too,” she continued enthusiastically._

_For a second, Mara was silent. Then, while picking up her violin bow again, she pointed out, “…it was at a_ _film festival_. _Is it even out yet? I didn’t expect you to pull out your video camera and record it as you watched…”_

_“No, no,” Caroline responded, shaking her head. She continued to ramble. “But I heard that it’s out for limited release here in the United States already. There’s a theatre in Washington, D.C. that’s showing it— it’s almost an hour away, but it’s worth it. I’ll pay for the gas if you drive—“_

_ If I drive? Oh, hell no. Aunt Serena would kill me. _

_“We’re supposed to be working on this duet, Caroline,” Mara whined, creasing her brows. “…but maybe afterwards.”_ _And if it’s not like the freaking ‘Exorcist’,_ _she thought to herself._ _]_

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Tom complimented and she smiled at him. He eyed the stack of complimentary magazines on the desk, the top one from [_Grazia_](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/182851538858/gong-seung-yeon-on-the-april-2018-edition-of), a name he recognised from the edition they had back in the UK. The majority of the cover was in Korean, which was expected, but a few English words popped up here and there. On the front was a young actress (Tom felt sorry that he couldn’t read Hangul, so he didn’t know her name), a woman with brown hair and upturned eyes that matched her hair colour. Staring at the cover a bit, Tom glanced back at the other woman with vaguely similar (yet darker... and Caucasian) features on the laptop screen, who was currently tuning her violin overall. She had just finished replacing all of her strings. He realised that their conversation made her stall on replacing the last string, and he felt a bit guilty.

Tom picked up the magazine, flipping through it. Articles on beauty and fashion for the spring season. Articles and articles… _oh God—_

“Erm, I’m _really_ sorry about the _articles_. The ones about us.”

Mara glanced up at him, blinking. Her mouth immediately went dry. _Right, I was going to talk to him about it if I saw him again—_

Her conscience scoffed.  _Yeah, sure you were._

“It’s not under any of my control,” he continued dejectedly. “If I had known that you would be involved—“

“— _I_ should be saying sorry,” Mara interjected, anchoring the lower bout of her violin with her elbow. “Do you know what they’re saying about us? …about _you?_ ” She gave him a worried look, thinking about how many fans of his _might_ be giving her or even _him_ jeers all over their social media. However, she hasn't actually checked, and that might've been a  _good_ thing.

Continuing on, Mara announced, “I don’t want to tarnish your reputation for something so minor.”

“No, _no_ , you aren’t tarnishing anything—“ Tom pinched the bridge of his nose and tossed the magazine back on the stack. “— you’re… fine.” He cringed at how passive-aggressive his tone might’ve sounded. “I don’t know if you’ve been subjected to that before…”

“Actually, I _haven’t_ before,” Mara confessed, moving a lock of hair between her hair. “The classical music world tends to give its ‘patrons’ some space. I guess that’s what happens when you mix two art contenders together. You have a _renowned_ household name on a plaque and a nameless participating ribbon in the same case for everyone to see.”

“ _No_ ,” Tom told her sternly, jaw clenching. He didn’t mean to sound (or look) as harsh as he did now, but he felt slightly hurt that she said that on her behalf. “…people’s priorities aren’t set. Don’t downplay any of your achievements. We may not be on the same route, but you’re _just_ as hardworking to be where you are now. You won an _international_ violin competition at _18_ , for God’s sake. I was getting yelled at as a waiter for a summer festival in Oxfordshire when _I_ was 18. I’d rather you _not_ talk about yourself like that— can you do that for me, darling?” The endearment slipped off of his tongue, but he’s met _far_ too many people who understate themselves and _really_ shouldn’t have.

Her breath hitched at the sound of him calling her _darling_. Mara felt like she was punched in the gut— she wasn’t offended or anything by Tom’s frankness, but _hell_ — if _Tom fucking Hiddleston_ tells you to stop something, you _fucking_ _stop_.

“I— alright,” she meekly responded, and took a deep breath. A tight smile was on her face. “I’ll… I’ll remember that. Thank you, Tom. Honestly. And, um… it's fine. That's all fine.”

After that, they were both silent for a couple of minutes. Then, “I’ll— I’ll be right back,” Mara announced quietly. “I’m _…_ gonna put my violin back in my case.” Tom saw her stand up and walk away.

As if on cue, Benedict returned to the desk as he slid his phone back in pocket. “Sorry, I had a rather long conversation with my agent. Just talking about an event I’m scheduling to attend next month. Did she pick up? My neighbour? Did she ever answer—“

“—Your neighbour is Mara,” Tom interrupted. He was still shocked by the whole ordeal. “The woman at Sophie’s party. Sophie's friend. The _violinist_.”

Benedict merely blinked at him. “I’m assuming she picked up, then. And… _yes_. Did I not tell you?”

“Er— _no_.” Tom took a deep breath. “I didn’t know she was your _neighbour_.”

“Well, she moved in a year after we did, actually,” Benedict informed. “Sophie _really_ wanted to get to know her first. I just became friends with her by association— not— er, not to discredit her or anything— Sophie wanted me to get to know her, as well.”

Tom slowly nodded. “Right, right.”

“Is my neighbour being Mara of… _special_ importance to you or something?”

The curly-haired actor died a little inside. His lack of response was enough.

“ _No_ —“ Benedict lightly put a hand to his mouth, and he wasn't even sure why he did that. He already figured out Tom's _…_ 'deal' with her. “Er— _why?_ ”

Just to clarify, Benedict had a reason for asking this. It wasn't about their age difference, as he had accepted the fact that Tom could care less about _that_. Nor was it really about other things, except _…_

Late-2016 Mara, in his opinion, was a complete mess. Or at least, that’s what he deduced from Sophie’s night confessions about her talks with Mara earlier in the day (which Mara had given consent for).

Mara had moved to London back in September of that year, and she was an _awfully_ socially awkward 25-year-old. Upon arrival, she didn't make many friends besides Benedict and Sophie, but she had also distracted herself by practising and travelling constantly. He didn’t know what happened _this_ year since the first time he saw her again in 2018 was last month, but she abruptly became more personable. Maybe the year-long tours lightened up her mood.

Sometimes, he also wondered if she had a flask hidden somewhere if she ever came to visit. A rather rude assumption, yes ( _What if she was just happy? And you’re an arsehole, Benedict?_ he thought), but he wasn’t sure how she jumped back with ease from being traumatised for the other half of 2016 and most of 2017.

It’s not like he disapproved or her— _them_ , or the idea of it, rather (it wasn’t that at all), but… he’s heard a lot of things that they have _both_ said that would _seriously_ contradict with one another. At the moment, specifics don't have to be discussed between them.

Benedict will have to save it for another time.

“What do you mean… _why?_ ” Tom asked, donning a quizzical look. If he was offended, it wasn't very evident on his face.

As soon as Benedict was going to respond (or say something that even _he_ would regret), Mara returned to the couch. Benedict turned around to face the screen and happily greet her, and Tom reluctantly turned as well, reluctant as the older actor _never_ answered him. Knowing him, it's not like he would give Tom a legit answer right now. That was one of the  _very_ few things about Benedict that got on Tom's nerves.

“How are the boys?” Benedict asked, trying to see if one of them would have the audacity to crawl up on the couch and next to her.

“Um, they’re actually asleep right now,” Mara admitted with a small smile. “I would take them up to my bedroom, but it’s a lot warmer here in the living room— and it’s obviously rather close to the kitchen if they’re gonna be hungry later.”

“I see, I see.” Benedict zipped up his navy blue jacket a bit. “Have you found out if your practising wakes them up? Well— I’m not condoning it if you _do_ wake them up, I probably shouldn’t have asked.”

Mara chuckled. “I might have to… um, _compartmentalise_ my practise sessions a bit. I’ve got one of those, um, ‘heavy practise mutes’, made of rubber and sort of ‘eats’ the vibrations. I’ll practise in my laundry room if I have too.” This earned a laugh from Benedict.

“How long are you staying in London?” Benedict now asked, tapping his feet on the carpeted floor. “Until you go to some ‘ _big city_ ’—“ He used air quotes for emphasis. “— like New York City or Los Angeles… Beijing, Paris? Any of the above this month?”

“ _None_ of the above for this month,” Mara corrected, smirking. “I’m doing a bit of filming this month for a little project of some sorts— confidential, so I can’t disclose anything, even to you _or_ Tom, Mr. and Mr. Hotshot Actors, but I actually have a performance Mid-May.”

If Mara had to be honest, it wasn’t _completely_ confidential— _You just lied to two_ _of the best actors in all of Great Britain!_ She had explained the whole premise to Sophie anyway when she came over, so it’s not a secret that only Mara knew. In fact, she felt a bit… _strange_ going into details with the two men about it, even if one of them was her good friend and neighbour, and the other was someone she tried _not_ to daydream about.

“Hm…” Tom hummed in interest. He respected the pact she made with _whoever_ by not asking about the ‘little project’ she had. “Where are you performing?” he asked about instead.

Mara snorted. “ _In_ London. Barbican Centre— not far from the Museum, I think.”

“What?” Benedict tilted his head at her through the screen. “You’re in London for over a month! That’s new.”

“I know, right?” Mara scratched the back of her head, not minding his sarcasm as she replied similarly. “But here’s the thing— I’m not _supposed_ to perform here again so soon. I’m here in London, _obviously_ , but beyond my filming project, I didn’t have anything major planned. It usually takes a few months, _years_ if you will, before I perform in the same city again.”

“What happened was that my manager got a set of emails from the manager of one of my violinist colleagues, asking if I happened to be here at around May _and_ willing to ‘relearn’ a _concerto_ within a month to replace her for her performance with the London Symphony Orchestra. God.”

Tom raised a brow at her. “Replace her?”

“Indisposed at the moment. It’s not, uh… exactly my business to go into specifics if that’s fine.”

“No, no, that’s _completely_ fine,” Tom responded. “Erm, I’m sure it’s evident that I _don’t_ know who you’re talking about, but I send her my regards.”

Benedict spoke up. “Oh, yes, mine as well. So, your performances are usually scheduled… a few _months_ in advance, right?”

Mara nodded. “Mhm. Coincidentally, I’m performing the same piece in June, in Amsterdam, so I guess I’ll have a head start on practising, anyway.”

“There we go,” he commented in reference to her travelling. “You’re rather… _Europe-centric_ this year, I see.”

Tom awkwardly watched the conversation between Mara and Benedict continue, his fingers fiddling with themselves in his lap. He realised how much of an advantage he could have if he had known Mara a lot longer, such as _more things to talk about and not make it awkward_ , but he merely felt like an awkward schoolboy with his upperclassman friend, who was preoccupied and speaking with the _other_  'upperclassman'.

He still fully can't grasp the notion that she was his neighbour.  _Can you imagine if you were neighbours with her? My God._

“Are you complaining? Sophie would love that I’m closer to home.”

“She _would_. You were all over Eastern Asia last year. She might’ve gone mental.”

“You know, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she took the flights with me. We _did_ use Skype a lot like we are now— _wow_ , I wish she was here right now.”

Benedict narrowed his eyes at her jokingly. “Wow, you don’t like talking to me?”

“No, sorry,” Mara quickly and bluntly responded, jokingly turning her nose up. “I only like _cool_ people. Like your friend Tom here— _one_ of the coolest guys I’ve ever met. You should be like him. _Be_ him.” She gave him a thumbs-up, and Tom started laughing.

“ _One_ of the coolest? Not _the_ coolest?” Benedict repeated, scoffing. He put a hand on Tom’s shoulder, continuing in a fake scolding tone. “Understanding subtext and diction is important for actors. You _clearly_ don’t respect him as you claim. _Tsk_ , At least _I_ do.”

“That’s because you keep a shrine of him in your house, _moving on_. Is that why Sophie said you want to build a shed? To have extra room for it?”

…Mara bit her tongue. She might’ve gone a bit too far— but Benedict’s need to be caught up to date with housing aesthetics _seriously_ amused her.

Benedict gaped at Mara, and Tom satirically patted his back. “Now I wish Sophie _was_ here. She tells you off faster than I can. Than _you_ can tell off _me_.”

“Oh _no_ , you’re right.” She pulled a loose thread from her cardigan. “No one is safe from Sophie’s comments.”

“That’s _extremely_ true,” Tom spoke up, and both Benedict and Mara looked over at him. “I don’t mean any offence, but I arrived at her dinner party sleep-deprived, which I told her, and when I tried to convince her to let me stay longer, she made a non-offending comment about me passing out at the table if I didn’t take care of myself.”

“She’s like that if I don’t eat breakfast at all,” Mara muttered, but Benedict picked that up.

“Your eating habits are _atrocious_ on the days you practice,” Benedict retorted. “Sophie told me about it after you came over for lunch that one day— her actions and _comments_ are _completely_ justified.”

Mara paused for a second. Then, “I practice every day, though… wait, _hey!_ ” Benedict was satisfied with himself. “Actually, that’s a bit of a lie… I accidentally cut one of my fingers and I couldn’t practise because I was wearing a Band-Aid a couple of days ago— Band-Aid, Elastoplast, plaster, whatever you guys call it.”

“Elastoplast,” Tom identified. “We don’t use traitors’ brands.” At this, Benedict and Mara burst out laughing.

“Are you— are you _serious?_ —“ Mara asked between laughs. “You’re going to use an event that happened _250-something_ years ago to justify something like _what brand of bandage do you use_? We—“ She wiped a tear from laughter. “— are actually— _children_.”

“Perhaps one more than the others,” Benedict retorted, pretending to look at the desk mirror.

Mara jokingly rolled her eyes. “Okay, _just_ because you’re _at least_ fifteen _billion_ years older than me…”

And like that, Tom realised that _she_ was the person he _seriously_ wanted to spend more time with. Well, as he hoped that he’d get around to asking _why_ Benedict questioned his own wants, but he figured that it shouldn’t be something to worry about if he ended up getting her number from him.

Before Tom left to get changed for the red carpet event at the _extremely_ extravagant mall, Benedict tightly grabbed his arm.

“She only said she needed help to watch the kids, _that’s_ why you have her number," he explained, before pausing. "Er— she's fine with me giving it out, by the way. We actually had a conversation about this before she met you— around last year, I think. But anyway, _don’t_ get too carried away.”

If anything, Tom could interpret that in  _at least_ a million ways. One answer stood out to him though, and it made him freeze.

_How much did he figure out already?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter has been edited and revised on 01/09/19.**


	7. April, 2018: 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nudity and inappropriate thoughts.  
> Simple persuasion for an indecisive woman.  
> Arguments about housing aesthetics.  
> What _is_ dignity, nowadays?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I didn't exactly want to rush through this chapter (which is why it took a while for me to update), and also because _this_ chapter actually serves as a build-up to the next chapter, which is where the story will start to move into... I guess, a more 'romantic, dramatic, suggestive, graphic' direction. Just giving a heads up.  
> Remember, there are links to give visual/auditory references.

_April 2018_

 

Mara was relieved to find that the [gallery](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/183087154403/industrial-soho-gallery-london-the-location-for) wasn’t _too_ far from her house, but maybe years of playing fully-memorised solo pieces ranging between 30 minutes to a full hour served her well in being rather patient. …the “gallery” was apparently only about 25 minutes away— on a good day.

That was where the long-awaited music video was going to be filmed.

Her manager, Naomi, had previously assured her that filming in London will only take one day since the production plans weren’t really too extravagant— neon lighting is a _must_ , nudity is a _must_ , and the attendance of Polish opera singer Julian Łukasiewicz and American violinist Mara Blanchard is _also_ a must. 

It was a secret to everyone else but Mara that the week before, every time she’d step out of the shower, she would study her naked body in the body mirror, staring at the light stretch marks around her hips and the light freckles on her back. She was grateful that her breasts were the right size for her to cup them with her slender fingers, and as she stared at her own pink nipples it came to her realisation that Julian would be the first person in two years to see them up close… Mara felt like her heart was palpitating, but she hoped that her body at least looked good if _everyone else_ was going to see it anyway.

_“New experience…?”_ Mara heard Sophie’s voice in her head from a few weeks ago.

She also learned how to cope under rather distressing situations, such as the ever-dreadful stage fright that she used to get as a child, but imagining the audience in their underwear at age 9 while playing solo Bach was no match for standing in front of a man she only met about twice, nude, as he lip-synched to an aria.

Now, the drive to the “gallery”, which apparently was also used for exhibitions and parties, was quiet. It was still a bit chilly and cloudy in London (although, this was something Mara got used to), and the only sounds she could hear were her own breathing, the intermittent tapping of her now healed fingers on the steering wheel, and the muffled sounds of outside. Well, until a _ping_ sounded inside of her car from her phone.

` _9:12 N: If you’re on your way, good. If you’re already here… meet me in front of the venue. There are some pretty trees in black and white pots, for reference._ `

Mara waited until she turned to the direction of the parking garage nearby, paying for the pass and parking in an empty spot on the second floor. She grabbed her phone, music and clothing bag, and her stainless steel water bottle, and briskly walked over to the venue to get to _warmth_ quicker. As soon as she opened the door, she found the older blonde woman wearing a black parka and in her usual business attire… and on the phone. Mara waved ‘hello’ at her.

Naomi, while speaking to her caller, gestured for Mara to come and follow her. She was led through the entirety of the venue, all white and black and _minimal._ Their shoes clicked against the floor and also echoed across the room. One area was covered in white tiles and was substantially brighter than the other areas, but Mara could see (she assumed) the lighting designer talking to the lighting technician while pointing to the lighting fixtures in said brighter area.

It took about less than 5 minutes to reach the other side of the venue, and Naomi, _still_ on the phone, opened the door of a room to find a stark contrast— the walls of this room were _brick_ , and the lighting was evenly spread. A clothing rack with a light grey flow-y gown next to a white robe and a black fabric-covered corner couch was there, where a duffle bag sat. Here, Mara saw Julian in a black T-shirt and joggers, along with a fleece jacket and trainers, and he stood in front of the lit body mirror, eyes closed, getting what seemed to be light coverage foundation applied on his face by a make-up artist. He didn’t notice Mara or Naomi. This time, both Mara and Julian were wearing their contacts, and Julian’s curly hair seemed to stick up a bit more due to the humidity from outside.

A black-haired man with a blue button-up shirt and slacks entered the room, and at the sight of Mara and her manager, he beamed.

“Ah! You must be Ms. Mara,” he acknowledged, and Mara could hear that he had a similar accent to Julian’s. He vigorously shook her hand, to which she merely rolled with it. “My name is Markus— I am Julian’s manager, here.” He gestured to Julian, and Mara suddenly realised he had AirPods in. The make-up artist patted Julian on the shoulder after she finished applying concealer and setting powder, and his eyes immediately shot open. At the sight of Mara in the mirror, he turned around and smiled.

“Mara! Hello,” he greeted, walking over to her and taking out his earphones. They shook hands. “I just finished with my make-up and dressing, so I’ll step out to let you change into that…” Julian pointed to the dress.

“Oh, okay, thank you,” Mara responded, smiling up at him.

“We’ll speak after you finish,” Markus added before he followed Julian and the makeup artist out the door, leaving Mara and Naomi.

At this time, Naomi had _finally_ finished speaking on the phone, hanging up. “Goodness, I’m _so_ sorry about that Mara. I was speaking with another client of mine— hold on, you _know_ her— violinist Sarah Chang. She’s performing in Vancouver in about a week…”

“I see, I see,” she mused, putting her music and clothing bag on the couch next to Julian’s duffle bag. “That’s totally fine.”

“Anyway, they— the venue owners— don’t have enough rooms here to serve as separate dressing rooms, and both Markus and I apologise for that—“ Naomi put her phone in her pocket. “But to be fair, there’s not much needed.”

“No, no, it’s alright— I think this room is enough,” Mara reassured, staring at herself in the mirror. “So…” She eyed the light grey dress. “I’m wearing that for… _half_ of the shoot?”

Naomi nodded, walking over to the rack and taking the dress off the hanger. “Yes, yes. Then…”

“ _Stripping time,_ ” Mara hissed, tapping her feet on the floor.

“Ooh, yeah. How are you feeling? Nervous? I know you haven’t… er… _you know_ , been naked on camera before— or revealed that much.” The blonde woman gave Mara her dress. “My other clients are also musicians, as you know, and they haven’t either… so you’ll be the first! When you _do_ shoot those scenes, Markus and I will go out coffee. It’ll be weird if we stayed—”

“— to watch, _yeah_ ,” Mara interjected in an amused tone. “I’m gonna go ahead and change into this— is this the right size?” She brought the dress up to eye level.

“It _should_ be,” Naomi guessed. “I sent your measurements to the tailor a while back.” She looked at the time on her phone. _10:01_

She continued. “I’ll let you get changed. Just peek your head out the door when you’re done— the makeup artist needs to work on you…” And the blonde woman left, leaving Mara alone inside the brick-walled room.

It didn’t take long for Mara to get into the floor-length light grey dress with an apron neckline and spaghetti straps that crisscross on her back, and she soon found the pair of heels, already given, that she needed to wear (since she was a great deal shorter than Julian).

Doing as Naomi told her to, Mara was able to get the attention of the make-up artist, who quickly headed back in to do a ‘natural’ sort of look and styled her hair to define her waves. This was the time that Markus and Julian had come back in, and Mara figured that Naomi must’ve told them she had finished anyway. She and Julian were given ‘scripts’ of some sort— just some elaboration on _what_ they were going to do, but they were also going to have some help from the choreographer who, in particular, had worked with Julian beforehand.

After they had gotten fully informed, they stepped out to the set, and first had to film their separate scenes. At some point, after Julian finished his first few, Mara had to stand in the area of the gallery with neon red lights, lightly layer herself in black tulle, and move forward in a leisurely manner as the camera (and director) moved backwards. It wasn’t too bad or anything.

Well, until Mara had to film her scenes with Julian.

They reviewed some of the [filmed material](https://youtu.be/RfympAkX8F0), retook a couple scenes, had a few chugs of water and a few conversations, until they were required to head back— Julian in his jogger apparel at the hallway under the neon red lights, as Mara was walking distance from him in her semi-formal getup in the main room with the neon blue-violet lights.

Mara took a deep breath. _You’ll be fine. This is… this is okay._

But as soon as the camera started rolling, the environment changed in entirety. Mara stood where she was, calmly facing the wall, until the production assistant ordered her to slowly turn around, and so she did.

Her breath escaped her completely. The view of _David_ by Michelangelo, Julian, was gone— instead, in her imagination, she faced _another_ 6-foot-something curly-haired man, the one she’d been _longing_ to meet in person again— Tom.

Tom _fucking_ Hiddleston, of all people, in her mind. A man that’s _at least_ a decade older than her. A world-renowned actor. Her friend’s husband’s best friend.

Julian no longer existed to her, and suddenly she was in an empty gallery with the older, bespectacled— actually, he wasn’t wearing his glasses this time— actor under neon lighting and stage fog. He stared at her with a longing look, dressed in Julian’s unzipped fleece jacket and joggers, but now shirtless underneath. She’s never intensively seen the man shirtless on screen or in real life, but she assumed that his toned chest was completely bare of body hair, like… _Um, who am I filming with, again?_

He walked closer to her now, as she could hear the _thud, thud_ of his feet progressively getting louder. Mara looked up at him, who was looking her up and down with eyes she couldn’t read. _How was he feeling? …how was_ _I_ _feeling?_

He didn’t say anything, except they both followed the script. Mara stared down at her right hand as he stared down at his left, and they lifted them up with the intention to hold hands. She wrapped her slender fingers around his large but soft hands, and he tightly shut his eyes closed as if he was revelling in the feeling. After coming in to contact, the neon lights brightened up to a good neon purple colour, and both he and Mara turned to face the right. Still shirtless, _Tom_ stared ahead as Mara lovingly wrapped an arm around his rather tall and lean figure, and had stayed in that position until the director had called out the ending of that scene… yet Mara forgot that there was an end.

 

* * *

 

“You can do this, you can do this,” Mara repeated quietly to herself as she took the dress off in the dressing room. “Just… calm down. Calm down, everything’s… fine. Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Her heels got quickly got taken off as well, and she was left in her undergarments. Mara just realised that her bra and panties were two different colours, but she remembered that no one would see them, let alone _care_. She gingerly unclasped the hooks on her bra, and Mara faced herself in her birthday suit (for the most part) in the body mirror. All of a sudden, it became substantially colder as she threw her bra into the open clothing bag.

She involuntarily crossed her arms over her breasts, even though she was alone in the room. Her own eyes travelled down her collar bones, her covered chest, her exposed stomach, and her—

_…Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!_

“Mara? Are you ready yet? You’ve been in there for a while now…” Naomi’s voice sounded behind the door.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” Mara yelled back, loud enough for Naomi to hear through the door. She took a couple of deep breaths.

Mara continued with her pep talk quietly.“Don’t be a little _bitch_ — you’re _fine_. I mean… it _can_ be a lot worse. _Duh_ , you know… like, this could be some alternative universe where you’re, like… a _porn star_ or something along those lines.” She abruptly paused. “What the... that’s— _no_. That’s— you’re _so_ weird. _Ugh!_ ” Running her hand through her hair, Mara started to pace around nervously after hastily putting the nude-coloured underwear and the white robe on.

Again, she got the attention of the make-up artist outside, who rushed back in to fix-up her hair a bit and to apply make-up on her body— Mara felt a bit unsatisfied having her stretch marks and freckles concealed, but having a skin oil lightly applied on her body to make her skin dewy looked quite nice to her.

When she finished, she stepped back out onto the main set, where Julian was waiting with a water bottle and _also_ wearing a similar white robe. After they both spoke with the director, they stepped in front of the room with the neon red lights, and the wardrobe assistants had come by to speak with them for a bit before sliding their robes off. Coincidentally, Mara and Julian had both turned the other way out of courtesy. But when they turned back around to face each other, Mara made sure to _only_ look up at his face while filming.

“Just tell me if you feel uncomfortable at any point during this shoot,” Julian advised, staring right into Mara’s eyes. “Like… _slap_ or _pinch_ me if you have to. Yell at me. Anything, really.”

Her eyes widened, and she gave him a horrified look. “I will _not_ slap you, that’s— that’s— bad, terrible, all negative words. _Oh my God_ —“

“— no, you’re right, that’s taking things too far, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to take you out of your comfort zone.”

Mara looked down at her mostly-naked body before giving him a deadpanned expression. “I’m kinda already _out_ of it— uh, I _really_ don’t want to make you uncomfortable either.”

She was silently grateful that Julian was gentlemanly enough to _not_ have his eyes linger downward. “Uh— to be honest… so am I.” He nervously chuckled, glancing down at himself. “But thank you for respecting that.”

The neon red lights were _ridiculously_ bright, which was something Mara didn’t think about until now, and she figured that she was going to get a gigantic headache by the time the red lights were turned off. Soon enough, the camera started rolling again.

Suddenly, she was behind him, and he slowly leaned back on her almost like some sort of overly-dramatic trust fall. Because of his height, Mara had to go on her toes to wrap her arms around his muscular shoulders as she pressed her cheek on his back. Then, she lightly wrapped her fingers around the skin of his burning neck as he stared directly at the camera. He turned and walked around her, ending up _right_ behind the young brunette woman.

Mara audibly gasped at the feeling of _Tom_ ’s large hand snaking up to her, his forearm covering her breasts, as he gripped the side of her body. His own chest was pushed up against her, and due to his height she could feel him leaning over, his hot breath at her ear. She turned around to face him directly, hands holding onto his shoulders, staring into his blue… grey, green, or _all three_ eyes. His face was relaxed, but his _eyes—_ they gave Mara mixed signals— should she be _aroused_? Calm? Happy? _Not_ wanting to pull her hair out?

She brought a hand up to _Tom_ ’s face and stroked his bearded cheek lightly, and he responded by calmly putting his hand over hers. Brown eyes still locked with the blue-grey-green eyes, and Mara never wanted it to end. _Tom_ ’s chest was pushed up against hers, and the feeling of having her breasts on him made her go practically ballistic. He leaned forward, lips ever-so-slightly brushing down her neck, which was starting to burn like the rest of her body due to the closeted desire. Mara’s eyes fluttered shut as she started leaning backwards in response, feeling his strong arms wrap around her waist and holding her tightly. Her breath hitched.

…“ _Cut!_ ”

Mara snapped out of her imagination. She lost her balance and fell backwards. Well… until Tom— _Julian_ held onto her waist even tighter to prevent her from falling directly on the floor. He pulled her back up.

“Oh my God,” Mara exclaimed nervously. “I almost— I almost _fell_.”

Julian chuckled. “Yes, you almost did. Luckily, I was able to prevent that.” He ran his fingers through his curly hair. “That wasn’t too bad, now was it?”

“Uh, _no_ ,” Mara replied, snorting. She hoped her growing nervousness wasn’t evident to him. She _also_ subtly squeezed her thighs together in a (failed) attempt to get rid of her arousal. “It really wasn’t. It was… cool, actually.”

“Oh, yes, I thought you did an excellent job.” The wardrobe assistant put a white robe over Julian. “Now… time to get dressed—” Both Mara and Julian heard the director calling out their names to come over, and they had done so once Mara received her white robe as well to speak with the director.

 

* * *

 

She practically slammed the door behind her, hyperventilating.

_On a scale of zero to terrible-actor porn star, how aroused am I?_

Mara had changed back into her regular undergarments to then re-wear the light grey dress, but she gasped at the feeling of how wet she was.

_…are you fucking kidding me? I’ve still got shit to film—_

She had to take a couple of deep breaths, chug her water bottle, and pace around a bit. She had to get her hair and make-up checked, and she got a few extra pep talks from Naomi. She had to try her _very_ best to not think of Benedict’s best friend.

Somehow, tightly shutting her eyes closed and blocking out sounds around her didn’t stop from Julian and Markus abruptly re-entering with boisterous talking with a hint of laughter and _seriously_ distracting her from staying calm.

_Look, that’s not okay. You don’t pretend you’re with a guy you met like a month ago to get through a nude scene with your co-star. That’s— no. He’s going to think you’re perverted, you’re disgusting, you’re all of those words. That should be a big no-no in your book._

 

* * *

 

“Would you like to come over?” was all that Sophie had to say on the phone for Mara to head over to her house a couple of hours later.

The director and the editors promised that the [video](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/183087162993/alla-gente-a-dio-diletta-music-video-stills) would be finished in a couple of days, and Mara made sure to look for that at some point next week under the YouTube channel of the recording company that Julian was signed under. She bid her farewell to Julian and Markus at the gallery after filming (perhaps for a _long_ while), who were both flying back to Poland the next day.

Now, Mara locked the front door of her home and wrapped the wool coat around her tighter in response to the cold weather. She headed over to the pavement to do her usual safety routine when, in her peripheral vision, she could see an older woman holding a filled bag of garbage walking over to her bin in front of the house next door and hastily placing it inside. It took a second glance for Mara to realise that the woman was _glaring_ at her.

“Excuse me,” the woman spoke out at her, and Mara couldn’t help but hear an… Irish accent? Northern Irish? Mara’s ears were still reasonably untrained in identifying non-American accents. “Excuse me!”

The younger brunette woman halted, facing the woman on the right. “Yes?”

“Do you happen to know the man living across the street? At _that_ house?” The older woman asked, roughly pointing at the house right across from Mara… the _Cumberbatches’_ house.

“Um… yeah, I _do_ , actually— it’s Benedict… uh, Benedict Cumberbatch.” Mara saw her raise her eyebrows at her American accent. “…why?”

“Well, you must’ve heard about the ‘new’ _structural_ _plans_ he— or whoever _bloody_ represents him, sent to the Council, then. Can you believe it? He’s still calling it a _shed_. Might as well take up the entire lot while he’s at it—“

“— wait, wait,” Mara interjected, putting a hand out. “Are you— are you talking about the shed he wants to have built in his backya— _garden_?”

The older woman scoffed. “ _Well!_ It is _nowhere_ even close to being called a _shed_ of all things— it’s supposed to be 160 _square feet!_ Is _he_ telling you all of that rubbish?”

Mara’s eyes darted to the floor, embarrassed. “Um, to be honest… I just get told this stuff by his wife, since I’m friends with her. I don’t actually— I don’t really talk to him about that stuff. Or anything remotely close to that level.”

That didn’t really seem to ease the older woman, who was progressively getting more irritated. “She’s just as bad of an offender as he is, in this matter. I’m guessing _you_ haven’t sent a letter to the Council, then.”

At this point, Mara realised that _this exact scenario_ was probably why she never really bothered speaking with the other neighbours beside Sophie. Or… maybe it was just a British thing where one didn’t even _know_ their neighbour’s name, let alone speak to them. She didn’t really know. America was different.

“Well, _no_ , because, um— no offence, but I’m not really sure _why_ this seems to be a big issue right now…”

“If you don’t mind me asking, when did you move here?” The older woman abruptly asked, deflecting the topic a bit. “You look _much_ younger than the other residents on this street.”

Mara was dumbfounded. _Why…_ “Uh— well, I moved here around, um, late 2016. Like, early September-ish.” She found it redundant to address the age part of her comment.

“I see,” the older woman acknowledged. “So you must not know _why_ it’s a rather big issue.”

Mara slowly shook her head, confused as to where this conversation was going.

All of a sudden, the older woman’s features softened. “Goodness, I’ve been _so_ caught up in my tirade, I didn’t even introduce myself— it’s as if I’m _trying_ to scare you off.” The older woman walked closer. “My name is Claire Caulfield. I’d rather you _not_ shake my hand or anything, I just disposed of the waste.”

The younger brunette didn’t know if this introduction had good intentions. “Um, _hello_ , Mrs… Ms… Caulfield?”

“Mrs., dear.”

“Oh, okay.” Mara gave her a tight smile. “My name is Mara Blanchard.”

“Well, hello Mara. Are you American?”

Mara sighed. “How obvious is it?” she asked exasperatedly, but only because she was afraid of appearing like an embodiment of American stereotypes to the older woman. _Arrogance? Lack of cultural awareness?_

“ _Very_ obvious from your voice, dear. Also, my daughter— she’s attending uni _in_ America right now, and I hear a lot about your ‘different’ mannerisms—“ Mrs. Caulfield paused. “— that’s not the point. I could hardly care less if _that man_ —“ Again, she points in the direction of Benedict’s house. “— would _like_ a ‘shed’ for his children. He’s blatantly committing encroachment for the others around him.”

Mara raised a brow at her. _This woman has some attitude._ “Uh… _how_ big did he want—“

“—160 square feet. He _called_ it a shed in his plans, yet the way he describes it in his plans makes it the size of a bloody _pavilion._ ”

_160 square feet_. Mara was stuck in her thoughts. _That…_ _is_ _actually really big for a shed. Sophie never said_ _what_ _it was for though, but it sure as hell isn’t for tools…_

“That’s _really_ big for a ‘shed’…” Mara voiced her thoughts.

“At least _you’re_ aware of that— I doubt _he_ is…” Mrs. Caulfield sighed heavily. “We are a _community_ on this street if you didn’t already know. The weather is _horrid_ at the moment, but when the sun’s out and the temperature is bearable expect me and the other neighbours— there’s a nice man named Nicholas in particular who lives _right next_ to Mr. Cumberbatch— to have lunch together outside. We have drinks and we converse with one another.”

_That… explains a lot._ At the time of year where the weather _was_ nice in 2017, Mara was busy touring and travelling in East Asia and Oceania, so she had absolutely _no_ clue that her neighbours actually knew each other and gathered. Also, she moved to London in the Fall of 2016, when the weather started going downhill, so she couldn’t find out that year either. _Maybe our street is an exception to the whole ‘isolation’ thing._

“Look around you, dear,” Mrs. Caulfield ordered, gesturing around the whole street, where all of the townhomes all resembled one another but had some distinct features on each lot— the older woman herself had a rose bush with all of her other bushes (which Mara took note to stay away from), and the others had some trees growing in the front. Various city cars were scattered around in the front of everyone’s homes, while an electric car was in front of their neighbour Nicholas’s home, and Mara’s car was also in front of hers. Even with all of these details, no house stood out of all of the others. “If Mr. Cumberbatch has his shed built, with all his plans of a planted roof and walls, he’d be the outlier here, being the _loudest_ or the most isolated, or the one to block light entry to the rest of us. It’s _completely_ insensitive— he’s already extended the rear of his lot and added a noisy boiler to his renovated attic, what else does he _need?_ ”

Mara _did_ wonder at one point why Benedict and Sophie’s backyard— _garden_ seemed bigger than hers…

“I… _wow_ ,” Mara lamely responded. “I— I didn’t know that this was a common opinion _here_. Where I’m from— the state of Massachusetts, on the East Coast of America— I think there, neighbours don’t really care if you want to renovate your house in any way. My parents got the townhouse my brother and I grew up in renovated without issues, so… I know it’s different here, since this is England, and we live in semi-detached houses…” She gave Mrs. Caulfield a sheepish look.

Mrs. Caulfield added on. “ _And_ the Council also has control over _what_ we do with the houses, which is something I assume you don’t have in America— I hope Mr. Cumberbatch _knows_ that…”

“Uh— yeah, I kinda have a feeling he knows.” Mara tapped her feet on the pavement. “But… he’ll certainly change what this street looks like, and I don’t know if it’s a good idea for him to _attract_ attention with the shed, than ward it off—“ She abruptly paused. _…am I literally throwing my good friend’s husband under the bus? Mrs. Caulfield isn’t exactly_ _wrong_ _… What the hell is wrong with me?_

“So you would agree then? You really believe his plans are insensitive?”

Blinking, Mara shrugged reluctantly. “I might as well— I mean… it _is_ veering in that direction…”

_Mhm. Throwing him under the bus. Classy, Mara._

The older woman huffed. “It’s nice to that see you, a _younger_ woman, is more sensible than that _grown_ man living across from us. You know, it’s no surprise though, once one becomes extremely wealthy. Their consideration for others reduces to practically _nothing_.”

“Yeah, nothing…” Mara repeated absentmindedly, suddenly feeling bad about her own privilege. She glanced at the Cumberbatches’ home, and suddenly remembered where she needed to go. “Look, um, it was nice talking to you, uh— _Mrs. Caulfield_ , but I kinda need to get somewhere…” _To the people you’re talking shit about!_

“Right, right, I understand completely.” Mrs. Caulfield gestured for her to go. “I don’t want to interrupt your plans— but I’ve also got to get ready for work at the chemist’s. Have a nice day, dear.” 

“Oh, you too.” Mara gave her a small smile before turning around completely, eyes widening in shock. _Did that really just happen?_

After finding no passing cars, Mara practically sprinted across the street and out of anxiousness, nearly _banged_ on the door. It didn’t take long for Sophie to answer, with her youngest in her arms.

“Hello, Mara,” Sophie greeted quietly, smiling. Her periwinkle blue sweater had a small stain on her chest, which Mara glanced at— Sophie did, in fact, notice _that_.

“Er, sorry… I spilt some of the milk I was supposed to give to Hal.”

Mara silently chuckled. “It’s fine. I mean, I’ve never had kids, _obviously_ , so I wouldn’t know of any of your ‘potential struggles’.”

“ _Oh_ , you’ll _certainly_ experience all of this once you become a mum. It can be harrowing, but it’s worth every second.” Sophie gave space for her at the doorway. “Come in, come in.”

As Mara took her shoes off, Sophie continued speaking to her. “How are you?”

“Um, I’m pretty good actually.” _Should I mention Mrs. Caulfield?_ “I _finally_ filmed the music video today.”

“Today?” Sophie repeated, starting to become excited. “How’d you do? Did you find it a bit nerve-racking or anything?”

_Yeah, not like I imagined my co-star was your husband’s best friend or anything…_

“You know… being nude on screen _actually_ isn’t that bad. I treated it like a normal-day sort of thing, which I guess makes sense since I have to be naked when I shower, _duh_ , and stuff like that…” Sophie started chuckling at this.

This time, the two women headed to the ‘library room’, where Sophie’s eldest was on the floor playing with rainbow-coloured blocks and the green-coloured bouncer chair of her youngest was next to the piano. After putting her youngest in the chair, Sophie headed out to the kitchen to quickly make cups of tea, and Mara decided to sit on the floor next to her eldest and play with him for a bit.

“No,” he huffed repeatedly as Mara tried to help him build the makeshift tower he was currently trying to make. “No.”

“No?” she asked, faking a look of offensiveness. “Why not?”

“‘Don’t want that.”

“Oh? You don’t want me to do that?” Mara locked eyes with him, which eerily resembled Benedict’s own. He didn’t respond, but he gave her a hard look. “Okay, okay. You do what you want, kid. Remember that we’re also a constitutional monarchy here.” She snorted at her own response as she put some of the blocks down.

Soon enough, Sophie re-entered the room with a teapot, before leaving and coming back with cups and containers for milk and sugar.

“Here we go,” she announced as she started pouring the tea in their respective cups. “Milk, no sugar?”

“Aw, you know me so _well_ ,” Mara gushed from the floor. She jumped up, smoothing down her pants. “Yes, please.”

Mara was handed the teacup and Sophie prepared her own. In a few minutes, Sophie would situate herself at the piano bench while Mara sat up straight at the edge of the corner couch as Sophie’s son started to build a house.

“You learn any new piano pieces recently?” Mara asked as she sipped her tea.

“ _No_ , I have not,” Sophie replied dejectedly. “My sonatas are collecting dust on the shelf right behind you.” Mara turned around to find the small collection of colourful urtext books.

“You’re a brave soul,” Mara commented. “Using _urtext_ books. Might as well use the original manuscript from a few centuries ago while you’re at it.”

Sophie rolled her eyes in amusement. “Stop that. The notes the editors give in other editions assume that I have extremely long, large ‘man’ hands—“ She used air quotes. “— so the music will look a lot cleaner if I just write in my own notes that are compatible with my ‘lady’ hands.”

She continued. “Besides, I’m in the early stages of directing an opera, so I won’t have time anyway.”

Mara’s eyes widened. “ _Another_ opera?”

Sophie sighed heavily. “Was Ben _right_? Do I _really_ direct more operas than plays, now?”

The lack of response Sophie got from her was enough.

She _tsked_. “Well, _anyway_ , I’m still going through with it since I haven’t done anything on that scale in a while. It’s _Otello_ by Giuseppi Verdi— I’ve never directed that before, though.”

“ _Otello_?” the younger woman repeated, surprised. “Oh my God! I was in the orchestra pit for a production of _Otello_ at Curtis, like, 10 years ago… yeah, a while ago. I _might_ have a copy of my music somewhere in my house here— unless I left it back in Massachusetts…”

Sophie chuckled. “That’s fine. Ben enlightened me a bit about it— you know him, he’s sort of a nut for William Shakespeare— er, well, the _libretto_ for the opera is based on the play with the same name, except that it’s, er, in Italian.”

“Ah, I see. I wish I was cool as you. _Understanding_ and _speaking_ Italian.”

The older brunette cleared her throat. “Yes, Miss _Blanchard._ Blanchard is a French surname— so you’re French, aren’t you? The French and Italian languages aren’t too far off from one another.”

“ _Highly Americanised_ French— from my great-something-grandparents.” Mara rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t count.”

“You know how to _speak_ French though, do you not?”

“Well, _yeah_ , but that’s only because my mom insisted that I’d learn it for my dad’s sake— the _somewhat_ ‘French’ parent. You know, _kyōiku mama_ parenting can only do so much, but at least I don’t need a translator when I tour in Paris for the 2018-2019 season.” Mara shrugged nonchalantly.

Sophie gave her a pitiful look as she sipped her tea. “ _Mara—_ that isn’t something you should normalise. I would _never_ treat the boys like that.”

Mara blinked at her. “My older brother turned out fine, though.”

"As you told me at some point, that’s probably because he’s a chemical engineer, and actually _doing_ something in science like your mum would’ve, er, liked _you_ to do.”

“Hm, I guess you’re right… that’s a bit unfair.”

“ _A bit?_ ” Sophie repeated, appalled. She continued with an anxious tone. “Mara! You’ve gone too far down— _please_ tell me you’re not going to let off any withdrawn anger about this matter on your future spouse and children, they _need_ to live, dear.”

Mara snorted, shocking Sophie a little bit. “Sophie, I— I _swear to God_ I won’t do something like that. Besides, I don’t think I’m ready to look for _that_ … yet, at least.” 

_In what world would I, hypothetically, end up with your husband’s best friend?_

“You’ll know when,” Sophie had merely responded. “ _You’ll know when_.” She abruptly paused. “We aren’t a soap opera— _moving on._ ” Mara started laughing, but this quickly died off as she started thinking to herself.

_Would I_ _really_ _know when to have ‘the life’? Or am I going to look after_ _that man_ _who probably wouldn’t give up his success for me? Or look after anyone else who comes along?_

“Um, I kinda… need to, uh, _tell_ you something.” Mara shoved her previous thoughts in the back of her head as she remembered the conversation with Mrs. Caulfield, instead. “It’s about… a recent, I guess— yeah, recent event.”

“Hm?” Sophie sipped her tea. “I’m all ears.”

But as soon as Mara _had_ to speak, she failed to do so. It was as if she had lost the ability _to_ speak.

_What’s stopping you? Tell her about Mrs. Caulfield!_

Mara started arguing with her conscience. _Hello? That lady was talking smack_ _about_ _Sophie and Ben! What makes you think Sophie wants to hear that_ _?_

_Just let her know! Be a good friend._

_But Mrs. Caulfield was kinda_ _right,_ _though… maybe I_ _should_ _send the objection letter to the Council and_ _not_ _tell Sophie…_

_And lose your friendship with her? You don’t even_ _know_ _your other neighbours except her,_ _excuse you._

_Well, then I’ll change sides. I’ll side with the Cumberbatches._

_You’re not being true to yourself, though. I thought we had this conversation when you were_ _at least_ _14\. Nothing— or_ _nobody ,_ _should influence the way you think._

All of a sudden, an _eerily_ familiar voice popped up in her head.

_Mara, if I were you, I would certainly come clean to Sophie. She isn’t a mind reader— you’ll have to tell her at some point before it’s too late and the ‘damage’ is already inflicted._

_What the hell is Tom Hiddleston doing here?_ Her conscience asked.

_If you_ _do_ _tell her, it’s best that you stop visiting us— this isn’t exactly something you should meddle with…_ Benedict’s voice also appeared, commenting.

Her conscience started freaking out. _Oh my God! It’s Benedict Cumberbatch! Pretend to be Sherlock Holmes and deduce Mara with her ugly sweater!_

Mara’s own voice (now irritated) reappeared in her mind.  _Stop that! All of you!_

She harshly put down her teacup at the office desk next to her, and ran her fingers through her hair.

“You can’t build that shed! Mrs. Caulfield said not to!” Mara blurted out _extremely_ quickly before burying her face in her hands.

Sophie blinked at her, attempting to comprehend what she just said. “… _what?_ ”

All of a sudden, Mara started speaking in a comically slow pace. “Mrs. Caulfield… said… _not_ … to… build…” She sped up again. “The shed that Benedict proposed to the Camden Council since last year, like you were telling me about when _I_ was in Seoul for my tour.”

“… _who_ is Mrs. Caulfield?”

Mara started to mock said woman’s words in her head. _’We are a community’, my ass_.

“Claire Caulfield. The older lady who lives right next to me. Like, from the perspective of your house, she’s on my left.”

Sophie scoffed. “Oh, the rude chemist? She was amongst the others who sent objection letters when Ben first proposed it back in December.”

She continued. “Also, when did you start speaking to her?” At this moment, Sophie was frowning.

Mara gave her a sheepish look. “Um, today. She was taking out the trash when I saw her, and I kinda… _spoke_ with her…”

“And what did she tell you?”

“…that your guys’ plans are insensitive.”

The older brunette rolled her eyes. “First of all, she doesn’t even _live_ next to _or_ behind us— I don’t know why _she_ cares all that much. Second of all… _Mara._ What did _you_ tell her?”

“I… uh…”

“ _Mara_.”

Mara sharply inhaled. _Just tell her._ “ _Fine_. You know what? I agreed with her. I said that she was right. You can’t just go around practically changing up the _entire_ house— that’s probably the _best_ way for you to attract attention, Sophie. Don’t want those ‘negative’ vibes on our street.”

Sophie pinched the bridge of her nose after setting her empty teacup on the desk. “The _plans_ were done to accommodate the boys— the boys _only_. Ben and I didn’t decide this for… for _ourselves_. They mean the _world_ to us, and we want to give them as much as possible as they grow up under our roof.” She narrowed her eyes at Mara. “If _Mrs. Caulfield_ , or— or even _you_ think that we’re planning this for our own _selfish_ desires—“

“— _she_ definitely thinks of that, sister,” Mara interjected in a snarky tone.

“That’s simply _not_ true,” Sophie hissed, and her eldest was now looking up at his mother, confused. “ _She’s_ a mother as well— I don’t know _how_ or _why_ she wouldn’t act the same way. But _you_ — no, you’re not even a mother yet. You’ll _definitely_ understand when it’s time, but at the moment, you’re rather lacking in a parental background as a single woman.”

“But doesn’t she have a point, though? You guys called it a _shed_ , but it’s like… nearly 200 square feet…”

“ _160_.”

“200, if you round to the nearest hundredth.”

Mara bit her tongue. _This is_ _not_ _the time to be witty._

Sophie made no comment on her retort. “It won’t even affect the neighbours around our lot— we measured everything _at least_ 5 times to make sure of that.”

“Okay, you might’ve _measured_ everything at least a billion times, but whatever happened to “staying anonymous’? You’re both more famous than _I_ am.” Mara continued in an American sports-presenter type of voice. “ _Breaking news: Benedict Cumberbatch and wife Sophie seen with two sons playing in their kinda-large shed with the planted roof and walls—_ “

“The shed isn’t even _that_ tall, Mara.”

The younger brunette rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m exaggerating a bit— um… actually, I _hope_ I am—“

“— _yes, you are_.” Sophie interjected. “Is that what you really think? Like the other neighbours who keep _meddling_ in our shed plans—“

“— a shed is supposed to be _small._ 160 square feet is not _fuc—_ “ Mara abruptly paused, remembering that Sophie’s sons were in the room, and she stared at Sophie who was narrowing her eyes at her for her slip-up. “— 160 square feet is not small.”

“Did Mrs. Caulfield tell you to say that? Does she know we’re friends?”

“…I might’ve… um, _told_ her that we are friends. But she didn’t tell me to say any of this to you, I can tell you that. I made my own decision here.”

… _did you_ _really_ _make your own decision? Or did you just agree with Mrs. Caulfield to get away from her as soon as possible?_

“Did you _really_ , now? Did you really?”

Mara only had a blank look on her face, hiding her growing anxiousness. _God, she’s a smart woman._

Sophie gave her a rather sour look.

“Goodness, Mara. You can be _so_ indecisive,” Sophie chided. “ _You_ should know better at this point.” Her brows furrowed.

Mara locked eyes with Sophie, now absolutely _mortified_.

_[“God, you’re so indecisive, Mara,” Darren chastised, gripping the neck of his violin even tighter. “You went to the Curtis Institute of Music at 17. Can’t you be rational for once— for your man, a Harvard graduate?”_

_Darren and Mara were standing in the living room of his condominium at The Plaza in New York, Darren holding his own Stradivarius violin while Mara borrowed a Guarneri del Gesù violin from his collection, as they stood in front of hand-carved wooden music stands. They were currently in the middle of some casual duet-playing after going out for lunch, but the ‘casualness’ of the environment quickly dissipated. Darren sharply inhaled, smoothing out his wool suit. Mara tapped her foot against the wooden floor in exasperation._

_“That rationality argument only works with me if you stop fucking using the ‘Harvard graduate’ excuse. I used to live less than 10 minutes away from that school, remember? I could care less.”_

_Also, what the fuck does me going to Curtis have to do with this?_

_Mara absentmindedly stared at the open National Geographic calendar of Hawaii pinned on the wall behind Darren._ _May 2016_

_The black-haired man blinked at her, unaware of any wrongdoing.“You should be honoured to be living near a fine institution like that since you were born.”_

_“Not when my boyfriend keeps using his alma mater as justification for asking me questions like_ _that_ _.”]_

Mara’s jaw tensed as she narrowed her eyes at Sophie due to the sudden memory. She could feel her hands starting to become clammy. Her breathing slowed down considerably, and Sophie realised that she might’ve… _crossed_ a particular boundary that she _knew_ bothered Mara. Some guilt flooded through her, but she couldn’t exactly do anything about it without making the situation worse than it already was.

“I…” Mara began, voice suddenly quiet. She took a deep breath. “I think… this might be a topic we won’t agree on. And probably won’t, um, _ever_ agree on.” 

“…I agree,” Sophie replied breathily, staring right into Mara’s brown eyes. She continued with a harsh tone. “I— I suppose we shouldn’t, er… _pursue_ it any further, since both you and I _clearly_ have polarising opinions on this matter.”

Mara abruptly stood up, and Sophie merely watched her do so from the couch. She was trying not to show any evidence of hurt, but the clamminess was peaking more than ever. “Y—yeah. You know, I—I think it’s best if I leave… for now.”

“Of course, of course. That’s fine. Really.” Sophie now stood up, peering down at Mara, who gave her a stoic look.

Sophie followed Mara out of the library room, through the hall, and into the foyer. The younger woman muttered a quick ‘goodbye’, which Sophie grumbled in return, and she hurriedly shut the door once Mara stepped outside to be introduced into the cold air once again, but she didn’t care.

Her heart was _pounding_ — any more and she’d start feeling that pressure, that tightness, like she was repeatedly being punched right at the heart, her jaw would start hurting, she’d have a heart attack, she’d fall to the ground and her breathing would be short, she’d feel dizzy, she’d silently scream and cry out, she knew that none of the neighbours would bother to help— they didn’t _know_ her— thinking it’s some nuisance who lives next door, and she’d eventually _die_ in front of the Cumberbatches’ home—

_Am I okay? Am I_ _really_ _okay? Am I healed? Am I suddenly free of all of my issues? Are they coming back? Or am I not over it at all? Have they been stuck in the back of my head? Has being away from home for months_ _really_ _made me forget him? Even if he’s_ _literally_ _a touring musician too? Have I forgotten him? …_

…who was she kidding? Everything about her _died_ the moment she moved to London, and sometimes she didn’t know if karma was progressively coming back to bite her in the arse. 

She hastily went down the short stairway in front of the house, before practically fumbling over to the nearest tall tree planed into the pavement to hold onto.

Mara, now free of (imaginative) physical ailment, blankly stared at her own house across the street, anticipating her needed return to isolation.

_Yeah, okay, moral of the story: Mara Blanchard needs to know how to make decisions so she knows what to do with her life._


	8. April, 2018: 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunken journal writing.  
> Instagram stalking.  
> Shameful shower masturbation.  
> Erm... it's not like Tom would tell anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I’m alive and well. Standardised testing is awfully stressful.
> 
> Thank you for your kudos/comments, as always!
> 
> Also, should I give a warning for this chapter? The tags kind of reveal it already…

 

_April 2018_

 

_22:47_ , it had read on Tom’s phone when he arrived back at the hotel, slightly intoxicated. 

Only mere minutes ago was he in the back of his rental car, his chauffeur diligently driving as Tom started to doze off. He was silently grateful that the chauffeur didn’t question his actions. Something that he was _also_ silently grateful for was the lack of fanfare that occurred as he calmly checked back in and headed to his hotel room a few floors up.

Normally, he didn’t mind seeing (or hearing) fans yelling for him and what not, or seeing the photographers taking photos of him as he temporarily posed for them. At this time, however, Tom preferred that the media or his innocent fans _not_ see him as a bumbling drunkard of some sort at—what, _10 PM_ , on a completely different continent. Tom rubbed his face with his free hand, the other hand scanning the keycard over the lock. The lock wouldn’t budge or show the green light, so he scanned it again. Nothing.

A pang of anxiety flooded through him. _I do_ _not_ _want to go back downstairs again._ Tom was horrified at the thought of falling down the stairs and _still_ heading over to the reception desk as he attempted to be a functioning drunk person. His next attempt of scanning was more exaggerated until he started to get impatient (mainly because of the inebriation) and practically _shoved_ the keycard in front of the lock. 

_Click._ A small green light appeared.

Tom had a blank look on his face, merely blinking at the lack of effort supposedly needed. He shook his head before opening the door and walking into his [room](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/183371609778/toms-hotel-room-at-the-hollywood-roosevelt-los). He was greeted with the dim lighting from the wall lamps and the closed grey curtains. On the grey couch at the foot of his king-sized bed was his open luggage bag, his closed journal and laptop sitting on top of neat stacks of clothing. Tom’s suits hung in garment bags inside the sliding closet, which was installed in the short hallway that led to the bathroom.

Walking on the dark rug, he situated himself at the wooden desk, right arm resting on the stack of books and the left brushing up against a small potted plant. A flat-screen television was installed on the wall behind him. As a result of his growing absentmindedness, he blankly stared at the sight in front of him: the brown leather chair, the small rounded glass coffee table with another potted plant, the grey couch and his luggage bag, and the king-sized bed that hadn’t been used yet. Tom started to slouch in the wooden chair, feeling the onset of sleep when he remembered that he was still in his suit. Loudly scooting the chair backwards, Tom abruptly stood up to head over to the hallway with the closet, where he gingerly slid the suit jacket and the waistcoat off to place on the hanger as a part of his post-premiere routine. _Ilaria’s going to kill me if this comes back wrinkled._ However, Tom ignored the fact that both articles of clothing started to slide _off_ of the hanger.

He started to saunter to the side of his bed, where he turned around and unceremoniously fell backwards. His arms were outstretched, and his back and head hit the soft cushion. Tom let out a deep breath as he stared up at the ceiling, before tightly shutting his eyes closed. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the slight stiffness from his pomade, and he cringed.

_You know what? I would like a shower. Actually, no, I_ _need_ one. _My hair feels disgusting_ _. I don’t want to sleep with my hair feeling like this._

Tom sat up, his surroundings starting to spin a bit. He grabbed his head as he attempted to balance on his feet. Now tightly holding onto the bedpost, Tom tried to focus on his environment, but it was as if his peripheral vision temporarily blurred out. He glanced at his open luggage bag, seeing his light blue journal sitting on top of his folded navy blue crew-neck jumper, and attempted to keep his eyes on it without succumbing to the alcohol.

_Definitely drunk. What’s… oh, that’s my journal. I haven’t written anything this week… maybe I should. Yeah. Yeah! I should._

He stumbled over to grab the journal and the pen that was slid over the cover. Moving the luggage bag, Tom sat with his knees spread as he opened the journal to the next unused page. He pulled off the cap of the pen with his teeth and silently composed his thoughts for a bit before beginning to write.

> _Dear Willing Person,_
> 
> _Today is April 23, 2018. Sometimes I forget how diverse and_ _eventful_ _Los Angeles is_ _compared to quiet and cloudy London, being surrounded by a variety of individuals with different interests, prospects, and cultures, all clustered together in this entertaining assortment of a city. I find it a bit of a tranquil experience to sit in a car alone, driving around and hoping that you know_ _where_ _to go and_ _what_ _to do, listening to whatever music is on and of your liking. When I’m out, and if I’m ever_ _allowed_ _to be out during promotional tours, I don’t hesitate to interact with people who are familiar with me, and have_ _genuine_ _intentions to speak to me— not to question me about any potential rumours or merely ask me for an autograph to make profit off of (which, to me, seems_ _awfully_ _criminal)._
> 
> _The world premiere for_ _Avengers: Infinity War_ _was earlier tonight, as of writing. Let me just_   _admit— the fans are_ _amazing_ _. Each and every one of them. The support we all got that day (and the past few days, honestly) is phenomenal, and I, myself, am greatly touched by the overwhelming amount of love and compassion. We worked for hours and hours on end to be where we are now, and as cliché as that sounds, I find no reason to ever detest my time with Marvel. Even though… well, willing person, you probably haven’t seen the film yet, so I won’t mention any potential spoilers to be nice._
> 
> _At the moment, I_ _might_ _be a little bit drunk._ _Might_ _is the keyword. I think. No, who am I_   _kidding, I think I’m completely out of it. I spoke for hours on end with my brother from another mother, caught up on life events, apparently drank a lot, and we had a lot of laughs and jeers with and_ _at_ _one another. On the way back to the hotel, I looked at myself with my phone’s camera and realised how unappealing my hair looks after a busy day. The pomade made it look nice when my hair stylist_ _first_ _applied it, but I’m not so sure now…_
> 
> _…I’m deeply sorry, willing person. I’m just rambling on this point— I’m just… happy._   _Content. Any synonyms! Even though I’m feeling a bit lightheaded! The alcohol is_ _definitely_ _penetrating itself into my system. I better stop before I fill this journal up with unnecessary content tonight. It’s definitely more worthy for actual thought-provoking entries._
> 
> _Much love (even if you don’t return the favour), T.W.H._

He looked over the entry, mildly surprised that he was able to sound coherent enough while intoxicated. Tom placed the pen inside the journal and shut it close. Placing it on the small rounded coffee table in front of him, he starts to slowly pace around his hotel room. Well, not before kicking off his Louboutin boots and lightly nudging them to the leg of the grey couch.

The journal writing was something he picked up mid-2016, but if one were to look through the early pages, it was an awfully intermittent pastime of his. Late-2017 came around with extra speculation about… his _previous_ relationship, and Tom thought that it was a good idea to start writing in the journal more often to keep himself sane. Other methods of coping included adopting Bobby, the occasional candle-making, and going out for runs in as much as possible.

_Well, now I sort of miss Bobby,_ Tom thought as he paced around. He remembered dropping the spaniel off at a good friend’s home before he first flew to Seoul, and as much as he enjoyed being out of the country, he _really_ couldn’t wait to fly back home.

As if on cue, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Tom fished through to grab it and narrowed his eyes at the screen. Every time Tom dropped the spaniel off at his friend’s home, his friend would send a ‘daily report’ of him out of courtesy.

`_23:16 J: Hey, you might be asleep, but it’s morning time here in London. Bobby’s doing alright— he’s been hanging out on his bed. Yesterday, I took him out for a walk after work, but it got cut short when it started raining. Bet you can’t relate in Los Angeles?_ `

`_23:16 J:_ (Attachment: 1 image)`

Tom opened the attached photo and smiled warmly. There he found Bobby innocently glancing up at the camera as he calmly sat on his brown bed, which was set up in his friend’s bedroom (as Tom could tell). Looking back at the actual text, he silently chuckled.

`_23:18 T: No, I’m still awake… and a little drunk_ (sweating/grinning emoji). _Nice to see that my boy is faring well. It’s substantially sunnier here than London._`

`_23:19 J: I think every other city on the planet is sunnier than London at this time of year, mate. Also, drunk? Wait until your mum finds out that her 37-year-old son got himself drunk on the other side of the globe, haha._`

Now, in his confused state, he _really_ wanted to disregard all of that week’s plans to book the next flight to London. He started to be a bit homesick— he missed the cloudiness and the accepted isolation he could subject himself to. He missed the times where he could lounge in front of his fireplace, reading (or re-reading, depending on the day) as he covered himself with a throw or the times where he could look over his scripts at the kitchen counter as he snacked on bowls of cut-up fruit or crisps. If he had time to, maybe phone his sisters or his mother. Visit Joshua, his old schoolmate from university, who was also the friend he was just texting. The options were endless.

A sharp pain came from his thigh. Tom glared down, groaning in pain from the feeling. He’d been so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t realise that he rammed himself into the corner of the wooden desk while pacing around. Rubbing his thigh, he plopped back down on the leather armchair, still feeling the dull throbbing. His phone fell out of his hand and onto the floor with a light _thud._ All limbs felt as if they substantially increased in weight, and Tom blankly stared at the entrance to the hallway with the closet and the bathroom.

_I want to take my shower now._

_My legs hurt, Thomas. For £900, those red soles are fucking painful._

_You’re going to be in a lot more pain if you fall asleep on this armchair with your similarly priced Corneliani suit and crusty hair._

_No, no, you’re right Thomas. I need to stay up— I can’t fall asleep here. Hey, you know what I just realised? I haven’t been on social media for a long time. Maybe today’s the day._

Tom’s (barely rational) conscience was practically _fuming_ at this point. _That’s not what I meant!_

In his non-sober state, it seemed like a daunting task to lean over and grab his phone from the floor. Tom unlocked it and swiped to the last page to find the folder labelled _social media_ , then tapped on the Instagram app first.

He felt a bit strange logging onto his Instagram account again after his unannounced departure for almost— _over_ a year. It’s not like he was going to post anything though, just some… _looking around? …Stalking? Learning? Ways to stay up until 4 AM?_

Before he continued, he got stuck in his thoughts. _Can I blame it on the alcohol? I mean, doing_ _this_ _is harmless…_

At this point, he must’ve blown up a few of his colleagues’ phones with notifications. Tom incessantly scrolled and liked _every single_ picture he saw, without commenting. To be extra nice, he visited each of their profiles and liked at least the first twenty he saw, regardless if he had already seen them during his sober lurking.

_I’m bored now. I liked the last 15 pictures that my good man, Mark Ruffalo, posted. Who else has an Instagram account?_

It took all of his brainpower to ponder about this.

_If I remember correctly, Benedict refuses to have social media._

_Oh… remember when you had those interviews with Sebastian and Letitia? I’m pretty sure they have accounts._

Tom was a lot more disheartened than usual when he did scroll through their profiles.

_Wait, I already liked all of their photos. I don’t remember doing that._

However, he did _just that_ merely five minutes ago. 

His mind wandered to his non-colleagues. _Joshua only has Twitter, my agent hates Instagram, Luke deleted all of his accounts, Joanna would get annoyed if I spammed her… wow, none of my other friends have Instagram, that’s both sad_ _and_ _relieving._

_…oh, what about that American girl you met? The violin player? She’s young— she probably has an account on here._

_Huh? Oh, right. Mara._

Tom gingerly entered the violinist’s name in the search bar and wasn’t surprised to find her profile as the first result with a verified checkmark next to her name. Tapping on it, he was directed to Mara’s page.

> **_Mara Blanchard_** ☑ **_—_** _26, American. 23 years of violin. 8 years of soloing. 29 countries visited. —_ ** _357 posts / 176k followers / 107 following_**

Tapping on her [most recent photo](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/183371618213/maras-post-cronuts-arent-so-bad-they-pair-well), which was posted not even a full week ago, he chuckled at the sight of her at a table in a café, making a kissing face at a pastry.

> _Cronuts aren’t so bad. They pair well with matcha lattes, though_ (smiling emoji) _— London, United Kingdom — April 23, 2018_

As he stared at the photo of Mara, Tom couldn’t help but wonder _who_ took the photo. No one was tagged on the corner of the post. It’s not like she was one of those Instagram personalities with a personal photographer— to him, she didn’t seem like that type of person _at all_ — but he was awfully curious… _again_. Tom rolled his eyes at his own thinking. _Do you remember the last time you were curious about her? It’s probably just a friend of hers, you nutter._ He went back and scrolled down further and tapped on [another photo](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/183371873898/maras-post-ignore-the-leftover-tortilla) of her that caught his eye.

Mara was standing in front of a mural of what seemed to be a theatrical production, car keys in one hand, a black jacket and scarf layered across the crook of her elbow, and a plastic takeaway container of tortilla crisps. If one looked closely enough, her white violin case was being worn as a backpack. Tom noticed how her hair was longer than he remembered when he spoke with her on Skype earlier in the month— not as long as her hair from the programme of her with the green dress, but long enough as it reached the top of her ribcage. _She must’ve trimmed it_ , he inferred.

> _(ignore the leftover tortilla chips) Went to visit my alma mater, The Curtis Institute of Music, and stopped by the murals on the way there! — Philadelphia, Pennsylvania — October 12, 2017_

Tom retained the name _Curtis Institute of Music_ in the back of his mind… even though he was bound to forget it in the next five minutes.

All of a sudden, he imagined himself there with her in Philadelphia last October, imagining her excitedly pointing up at the mural and turning around to look back at him as he pointed out his own observations. They’d go _on and on_ about the parts of the mural they found interesting, mind-boggling, _incredible—_ how the striking colours were used to add a whimsical yet daring theme— and he knew that he’d never grow tired from hearing her describe her interpretation of the artwork. He’d stand close to her, locking his own eyes with her brown ones every time she spoke, and they would both turn to stare up at the mural until they had to leave to visit Mara’s alma mater… however far that was supposed to be from the wall mural. On the way there, they’d probably eat the leftover tortilla crisps from the takeaway container, Mara absentmindedly feeding him and herself as he concentrated while driving—

…Tom stopped for a second, glancing around his hotel room as if Mara suddenly showed up out of nowhere with slightly longer hair and tortilla crisps. He figured it was from the drunkenness, but the now-incessant thoughts about Mara didn’t bother him that much. Usually, he’d scold himself if he felt as if he started sounding like one of those romantically-deprived individuals, but… he wasn’t being ‘harsh’ on himself this time. 

Tom didn’t catch this the first time, but before the café photo was a vignette photo of Mara in a floor-length light grey dress, her arm wrapped around a taller _shirtless_ man with curly hair as he stared off into the distance. Both of them were standing in light stage fog and under purple neon lighting.

> _[#Repost from @julian.lukasiewicz] The video for ‘Alla gente a Dio diletta’ is out now, under the Warner Classics YouTube channel! (You can also just go to the link in my biography.) I would like to thank everyone who worked with me during filming and recording, it’s been such a great time. Special thanks to my co-star, @marablanchard, for being such a cool girl! It was a bit cold when we filmed…_ (winking emoji) _— London, United Kingdom — April 23, 2018_

Tom’s heart stopped. _Who…_ With a tremor, he tapped the first part of the comment section. If anything, he probably would have had a heart attack by now.

[ ** _aksdbiubas:_** _Are you two dating?????_

_—_ ** _okfg.dofkg:_** _@aksdbiubas ofc they’re not dating, they’re just co-stars duh_

_—_ **_aksdbiubas:_ ** _@okfg.dofkg But they went out for dinner when she was in Poland??_

**_sdfsdjnfsd:_ ** _I ALREADY SAW IT. IT’S AMAZING_

**_ejefnnrgde12:_** _You guys would look so cute together._ (heart-eye emoji 4x) _Also when are you coming back to New York City to perform??_

**_lefnenfwej:_ ** _can y’all stop asking if they’re dating? y’all weird as fuck_

**_callista_li:_ ** _Is this the guy from that Polish podcast?_

_—_ **_marablanchard_ ** ☑ **_:_ ** _@callista_li yes! officially the coolest countertenor I’ve ever met_

_—_ **_julian.lukasiewicz_ ** ☑ **_:_** _@marablanchard @callista_li_ (smiling emoji)

**_irjtwnrhe:_ ** _Can’t wait for your concert with the LSO next month!!!_

_—_ ** _kjehfewihq1:_** _shame that she replaced Janine Jansen though_ ]

_…they went out for dinner. Thomas, they went out for_ _dinner_ _. Red flag!_

His jaw tensed and chest heaved at the thought of Mara sitting with _whoever that is_ , laughing as they both feasted on their food and conversed incessantly. _Was he the one with her at that café?_ Tom felt betrayed… almost. Even though he _very clearly_ was _not_ involved with Mara in any way, the thought of _her_ escaping from his line of sight to hypothetically fall into the arms of a real-life Michelangelo statue was _harrowing_ for him. _She’ll probably never know, though._

In his annoyance, Tom decided to do a bit of… _research_ , on whoever ‘Julian Łukasiewicz’ was. Yes, research.

>   ** _Julian Łukasiewicz_ ** ☑ **_—_ ** _Polish opera singer; countertenor. —_ **_287 posts / 30.9k followers / 307 following_  **

Tom purposely avoided studying any of Julian’s photos, even if he couldn’t help but retain the sight of his posts where he danced in front of others, made silly faces to his phone’s camera, or sang with much poise in grand concert halls. He purposely ignored the fact that this so-called opera singer was exploiting his ‘sex appeal’ with his chiselled jaw and toned body in other posts. _Julian doesn’t seem very professional_ , Tom pointedly thought to himself. However, Tom had forgotten about his own _non-professional_ mannerisms (such as… well, being much more outspoken— _brutally honest_ than usual) when he was fully intoxicated.

_Are you jealous?_

_No, what? Be quiet. I don’t care if he already looks muscular or has his hair tamed before turning 30._

_Erm… Thomas, have you_ _seen_ _yourself at his age? Fuck, you looked like a_ _stick_ _during Archipelago. Your hair was a dollop of disappointment._

_Times are different! I’m more muscular now. My hair has been looking sleeker._

_Alcohol makes you more confident than usual, Thomas._

Tom had somehow remembered about how there was apparently a video with Julian and Mara, and he couldn’t help but be curious about it. He wasn’t stopping himself, however.

When he tapped on the link in Julian’s biography, he was redirected to the video. When it started playing, he was bombarded with _red_ and the sight of the Polish man. Tom’s eyes started hurting at how _bright_ the lights were. The scene transitioned to Mara with wavier hair than usual, her face covered by a thin layer of tulle as she stood under neon red lights. In the background Tom could hear the faint sounds of violins and a harp being played at a slow tempo, before Julian appeared under neon purple lighting, facing a mirror. He started to sing, and Tom’s jaw dropped.

_His… his voice. It’s so… high. What?_

Under a mixture of neon red, pink, and purple, one could faintly see Julian in his casual getup. As the camera moved closer, a pair of arms started to reach out for him and the owner of the limbs approached him. By the time Mara had held onto him, the screen was completely red. One quick transition to Julian under neon purple staring at the mirror before it switched back to Julian in the middle of a dramatic trust fall as Mara ‘caught’ him, holding him tightly. Another transition to Julian in front of the mirror, and suddenly he was behind Mara… both _completely_ nude.

Tom hadn’t even realised that he was holding his breath in the entire time he diligently watched this portion. The sight of his hand and arm travelling up to grab her, her breasts being pressed by his arm, her face revelling in the feeling. The sight of him leaning over her, his mouth mere centimetres from her own as they both seemed to enjoy the skin-to-skin contact. The sight of her turning around, seeing her stroking his face as her silhouette pressed her breasts against him. …the sight of him brushing his lips down her neck as his own hands travelled down her nude body and as she leaned backwards.

He felt his loins stirring, and Tom had to force himself to stop watching. He didn’t even pay attention to the music itself, and he was desperately trying to forget the image of Julian grabbing onto Mara.

_I need some sleep. I think we’re done for today,_ he mentally admitted to himself in defeat. 

_…what about your shower?_

_Fuck._

Tom hastily headed over to the bathroom, feeling the slight coldness of the white and brown tile under his socks. He took one glance at the mirror, cringing at the sight of his dark circles, dishevelled hair, and his now-wrinkled white dress shirt. Sliding the glass shower door, he turned the tap on and went back in front of the mirror over the sink to take his contacts out and strip right after. He didn’t particularly care that he left all of his clothes on the floor as he stepped in the white shower.

…well, if Tom had to be honest, the shower made him much more fatigued than he already was. The feeling of the warm water hitting his skin was relaxing, even if it seemed like it added at least twenty stone to the amount of ‘pressure’ being exerted on his body. He tried to wash out the pomade as much as he could, even if it took a few lathers of shampoo. The familiar citrus scent from his conditioner filled his nostrils and he took a deep breath as he relished in its aroma.

Eventually, he started to apply his body wash, which, _unfortunately_ (for him) was when his barely-lucid thoughts started averting back to the video. 

Tom thought about Mara, and how beautiful she looked even while she was covered in tulle. How her stare at the camera… at _him_ , was absolutely _intoxicating_. He missed seeing those eyes, even if the rest of the sight around her was painful (and not just because of the neon lights). He wanted her to look up at him the same way she had looked at Julian as she stroked his face, locking her eyes with his and reassuring him that _he_ was the man she loves that time. _God_ , he wanted to see her in person. Not on a laptop screen over Skype, or a _fucking_ phone screen. All Tom wanted was her to be with him, speaking her mind or even partaking in mundane tasks. Just… with him.

The sight of her nude body (or at least, of what he could see of her) made his blood run down south, and he didn’t particularly care about the fact that he dropped his body wash bottle on the floor to start stroking himself. It didn’t take him that long to become fully erect.

He realised that he hadn’t exactly… well, let off steam in a _long_ while. _He_ wanted to be the one to hold her— feeling her supple skin with his substantially larger hands as he exhaled at her ear. He wanted to be the reason she closes her eyes in pleasure as she revels in the feeling of his hands on her. The scent of… _something_ , Tom figured that she seemed like the type of person to use products that smelled of oceanic scents, and he’d take a whiff of that in his drunken state as he explored every part of her body. Her body would unravel, her muscles would _melt_ in his arms, she’d throb and moan and _oh my God, she would feel so bloody good around me_. The down-to-Earth woman who normally kept a poised reputation in public, falling apart as he imagined his renowned self being intimate with her. Her eyes would go dark, pitch black due to lust, and she’d tightly grab onto him as she panted.

All of a sudden, he was with her in _God knows where_ , and suddenly he was treating her like porcelain, afraid that he’d break her as she was in his arms. Tom imagined letting her go in order for her to kneel down and wrap her slender fingers around his length, disregarding the fact that it was _him_ doing that in reality, and he’d moan and grunt and groan at the feeling of her tending to him. He briefly stopped for a second, looking down to see his throbbing erection as he deeply inhaled and exhaled, before he tightly shut his eyes and continued his thoughts, imagining that he’d re-enter her. He let out a low moan as his hand quickened. 

_Who knew you would end up thinking about her this way?_

_God, I want to know what she feels like. I want to feel everything. I want to feel her skin against mine, I want to see if her skin is_ _that perfect_ _in person. If we knew each other on this level, my God…_

His face would be buried in the crook of her neck as he continued his pace, knowing that it was probably going to be over soon enough, holding onto whatever part of hers he wanted, and _oh my fucking God you feel amazing Jesus fucking Christ— you’re so fucking beautiful I don’t think I can go any longer darling_ _fuck_ _— so perfect so_ _mine_ _I_ _want_ _you for the rest of_ _my fucking life_ _— no, no, no, fuck I’m coming darling, oh my God Mara—_

…

Tom’s eyes slowly opened, his mind a _tiny_ bit clearer than before. He still felt the sprinkles of warm water hitting his skin as he took a deep breath, and he looked down to find his seed running down the drain with the rest of the water. All of a sudden, _shame_ flooded over him like a high tide, and his head started pounding. Tom felt _absolutely_ nauseous but used all of his willpower to hold in his stomach contents while he was still in the shower.

_No, no, no, no,_ _no_ _,_ **_no_ ** _—_ _that is_ _definitely_ _not alright, you just_ _masturbated_ _to your best friend’s neighbour—_ _oh my God_ _. You— you idiot. You_ _fucking_ _idiot. I hope she calls you an idiot too because_ _you_ _are one. She’s going to hate you. Everyone’s going to hate you, you fucking pervert. Pack your bags, change your name, and head to Greenland. You’re a disgusting prick._

That didn’t stop him from prolonging his shower as he idly leaned against the wall, staring at the fallen body wash bottle on the floor before he continued the rest of his routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve made a vow to not ever get drunk (lol), so with that being said, I’ve had to do a bit of research on what it’s like to be drunk. I envisioned Tom to be sort of contradictory in his actions while intoxicated— perhaps with, uh... more libido. I'm currently experimenting with this type of content, so I hope it sounds reasonable...


	9. May, 2018: 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A change of babysitters.  
> Dwelling in the past for a bit.  
> Running into the _other_ babysitter _and_ , er, the woman Tom had masturbated to.  
> If the most romantically unlucky man ends up in a relationship longer than a month, then to Tom, _that_ is an indication of the necessity for him to try harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to May 2018, the turning point of the 'war'. Or really, internal conflicts. :)  
> Thank you for your comments/kudos/subscriptions.  
> Remember, there are links to give auditory references.

_May 2018_

 

> **[ _ATTO QUARTO_ ](https://youtu.be/zIVFSW25h1o?t=6332) ** **_—_ ** **ACT FOUR**
> 
> _La camera di Desdemona._ — Desdemona’s Room
> 
> _EMILIA_
> 
> _Era più calmo? —_ Was he [Otello] calmer?
> 
> _DESDEMONA_
> 
> _Mi parea._ — He seemed so to me.
> 
> _M’ingiunse di coricarmi_ — He commanded me to go to bed
> 
> _e d’attenderlo._ — …and there [I] await him.
> 
> _Emilia, te ne prego,_ — Emilia, I pray you,
> 
> _distendi sul mio letto_ — …lay upon my bed
> 
> _la mia candida veste nuziale._ — …my white wedding nightgown.
> 
> _(Emilia eseguisce.)_ — (Emilia does so.)

Speakers at a bearable volume, the sound of two women solemnly singing alongside low woodwinds and strings filled Sophie’s ears as she followed along with the _libretto_ book. The brunette woman was lounging in her ‘library room’, black heeled sandals kicked to the leg of the piano stool and dressed in a polka-dot peplum shirt with navy blue slacks. It was dusk at the moment, with the sun vaguely glaring through the closed blinds.

For Benedict’s new drama _Patrick Melrose_ , they both stayed in Los Angeles longer than the others from _Avengers: Infinity War_ in order to head to premieres and promotional events— in the United States. There was _plenty_ for Benedict to promote this month in the UK. Today, to celebrate its launch, they were going to head to a dinner party at Searcys. Sophie had recalled Benedict drafting his speech at the office desk right across from where she sat in the ‘library room’, and also reciting it with some minor changes in front of the bathroom mirror. 

As for Sophie, she had officially been appointed as a guest director for the Royal Opera company, where they started to work on their production of Giuseppe Verdi’s _Otello_. The production was to be held at the Buxton Opera House in Derbyshire, which was four hours away from where they lived in Greater London. They were guests in the venue, but Sophie was content about being preoccupied with the demands of opera (theatre, really) after taking a hiatus to take care of her sons. Before the first rehearsal on Friday, Sophie was doing a quick run-through with an older recording of the production before creating her own plans.

Sophie heard the sound of footsteps out in the hallway, and she glanced up from her book to find her husband in a navy blue suit walking down the hall to the kitchen (as she assumed). She thought he looked good… as always. Averting her eyes from the full lite door, Sophie eyed her phone which was connected to a speaker. She bookmarked the page of the _libretto_ she was on and stood up, heading over to the desk to write down the timestamp of the recording inside the book before unplugging her phone. Not long after, Sophie turned the ceiling light off to head over to the kitchen, where Benedict was leaning his elbows on the counter with his phone in his hand. She raised a brow.

Benedict noticed her facial expression. “Well… we’re getting out of the house, so we’ve got to call a sitter. Do you think Mara is busy today?”

Sophie’s eyes widened at the mention of _her_. “We are _not_ calling her,” she hissed, and Benedict visibly looked taken aback by her reaction.

“…she’s busy, then.”

“No—“ The older brunette woman pinched the bridge of her nose. “— no, I don’t know, actually. If anything, _however_ , you will _not_ call her. I told you what she said before I left for Los Angeles—“

“— that’s right,” Benedict interjected, furrowing his brows. He glanced at the sliding door that gave way to their garden, and at the area with markers to indicate the structure that would (hopefully) be built for them at some point. “Erm…”

“She’s turning 27 this year. At the moment, single with no children. How could _she_ possibly understand parental sacrifices?” Sophie questioned as she tapped her foot on the ebony hardwood floor. 

“She _is_ turning 27.” Benedict sometimes forgot how young she was compared to them… _and_ the rest of the whole bloody street. “If you remember, _I_ remember you telling me back in 2016 that her mother’s parenting skills weren’t exactly the greatest—“

“— which she should’ve tried _not_ to let it get to her.” Sophie abruptly paused. “You know, I sound completely heartless… I understand that some people can’t really alleviate any _psychological_ pain received while they were growing up, but… I know she can do a lot better.” She gave him a stern look as he slid his phone inside the pocket of his pants.

Benedict took a deep breath. “I know we _all_ weren’t very mature in our late 20’s, compared to _now_ — as much as we might have thought otherwise. She _might_ rethink her decision, but for now, er… that’s… unknown.” He stood up straight, walking over to Sophie where he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. Sophie rested her head on his.

“You know, we still need someone to look over the boys tonight.”

Sophie huffed. “We are still _not_ calling her, regardless if she’s busy or not. I don’t want her _in_ or _near_ this house— even though she lives across the street.”

He abruptly lifted his chin from Sophie’s shoulder. “Then _who_ are we calling?”

“Your mum called the other day to say that she’s back on set for _Holby City_ , so we obviously can’t contact her,” Sophie informed, turning around to face him.

Benedict took a hand off her waist to scratch the back of his neck. “Everyone else we know well relocated to places _at least_ an hour from London.”

“…that includes actors?”

“Well, yes—“ The older actor suddenly stopped, briefly giving his wife a confused look before shifting to a suspicious one. “Who do you want to call?”

“…Tom,” Sophie reluctantly replied, and Benedict snorted.

“Er, he’s busier than everyone in Europe _combined_ , which I’m sure he’s told you about.” Benedict retorted, amusedly rolling his eyes. “But I don’t know if that’s a good idea… to call him, I mean— we can’t just _use_ him to babysit, only because _he’s_ single with no children—“

Now, Sophie rolled _her_ eyes. “ _That’s_ not why I want to ask him. His district is less than ten minutes away from us, so that’s convenient, isn’t it?”

“…yes.”

_“She only said she needed help to watch the kids, that’s why you have her number. Er— she's fine with me giving it out, by the way. Don’t get too carried away.”_

Benedict’s eyes widened, remembering his conservation with Tom last month.

“So we’ll call him?” The older brunette woman asked as she started to unlock her phone.

“Erm, yes, but… I think I have to point out something—“

Sophie looked up at him from her phone screen. “— what is it?”

For a moment, Benedict was silent, trying to think of a sentence that _won’t_ put Sophie off. “…so, you know how I was in South Korea last month with Tom?” Sophie slowly nodded, waiting to see where this was going. “Well, before your… erm, _argument_ with Mara, I contacted her on Skype while you were at that meeting with the directors and while she was looking over the boys. Tom was with me, and I might’ve, erm…”

“ _What_ did you do?” Sophie asked with a progressively suspicious tone.

Benedict deeply inhaled. “Just to be nice, I thought Mara would benefit from someone else helping out while she looked over our boys— _if_ she was looking over them. I felt a bit bad that she was on her own while doing so. Tom was the first person I thought of that would get along with her quite well, so… I might’ve, erm, given him her number so they’d both look over the boys.”

Sophie blinked, merely giving him a blank look. Then, “I’m sorry, you did _what?_ ”

“Look, it was meant to be a nice gesture—“

“— _Ben._ ” Sophie took a deep breath. “You _know_ how I feel about her at the moment. _What_ were you thinking—”

He nodded. “Yes, yes, I understand— Mara won’t be here tonight, I’ll make sure of that, I promise—“ Sophie glared at him, and Benedict merely gave her a stern look in return. “Really, I do. Anyway, I need to head to the toilet, so can you be the one to call Tom? I’m sorry, it’ll be quick. I’m abiding by all promises.”

“…alright. She better not show up later!” She scrolled down her contacts to find Tom’s number and started to call as Benedict walked out of the room, heading down the hall. 

Not long after, Tom picked up.

“Hi, Tom, it’s Sophie,” the brunette woman greeted on the phone, calming down a bit. “Ben’s using the toilet, but he asked me to call. How are you?”

Tom chuckled on the other end. “Hello, and that’s alright. To answer your question, though, I’m fine. And you?”

“Er, I’m fine as well.” Sophie paused for a moment, suddenly becoming nervous at the thought that Tom might not be happy by what she planned to ask him. “Erm, he and I would like to _ask_ … this might be too much to ask considering it’s rather late, but are you… _preoccupied_ with anything tonight?”

On his end, the curly-haired man paused, and Sophie patiently waited. Then, “No, not really. I’m currently emailing my agent, though. Not much.”

“That’s great,” Sophie breathed out, and she realised that Tom was still _very much_ attentive in this phone-call. “Oh— erm…”

“ _Why_ is that great?” Tom questioned in an amused tone.

“Well… you know how we, erm… we sometimes have to call a ‘family friend’ or what not to watch over the boys while Ben and I attend a premiere, or a dinner, or an awards’ show…?”

…Tom immediately knew where this conversation was leading to.

“Was your first option preoccupied?”

“Filming for series 20 of _Holby City_. Not much we can ask Ben’s mum to do in that situation.”

“And your second?”

Naturally, it took Sophie a moment to regain her composure at the indirect mention of _her_ … again. As of now, it had been three weeks since their ‘falling out', but Sophie’s vexation at her was still at its peak. _We are full-grown adults. We shouldn’t act like reckless schoolchildren with a rivalry._

_…I_ _am_ _older than her though. Thirteen_ _bloody_ _years older. She’s almost 30 and she need not be so impulsive in her decision-making—_

“Indisposed at the moment. Er… not allowed to go into specifics, if you don’t mind,” Sophie hastily lied, eyebrows furrowing. She pinched the bridge of her nose, upset at herself for seeping _that_ low. _Did you honestly just_ _lie_ _to him? Goodness, Sophie. You’re completely out of it at this point._

Tom merely blinked on his end, wondering where he had heard _those exact words_ , and _who_ told him. He shrugged the thought off, finding it redundant. “Oh! Er… I see, I see. So, you… want _me_ to, erm, you know… babysit?”

“If it’s not too much to ask,” Sophie replied immediately after, practically pleading at this point. “You’re the only other friend that lives the closest to us, and we’d trust you more with the boys while we’re at the launch dinner for _Patrick Melrose_.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Tom pulled a loose thread from his jumper. “Ben was telling me about that while we were in Seoul. Besides, I live about, er, seven minutes away from you. Driving distance, of course.”

The brunette woman nodded. “Mhm. At my dinner party two months ago— the one we invited you to— we had a few friends who travelled from Reading or Southampton… they’re the _next_ closest, dear.”

Tom _tsked_. “Well… I suppose it’s more, er, _advisable_ to contact _me_ , then. But anyway— _yeah_ , I’d love to babysit.”

“Thank you so much, you’re a God-send,” Sophie complimented, and on his end, Tom’s cheeks turned pink.

“It’s no problem,” he replied. “I’ll finish this email and I’ll freshen up a bit before heading over, yeah?” He was tapping out a rhythm with his fingers on the counter.

“That’s fine, that’s fine. See you, dear.” When she hung up, Sophie took a deep breath as she rubbed her temples, starting to feel ashamed for outright lying.

Well, if anything, Sophie assumed that Tom would lend out a tolerant ear for anything but a current disagreement between her, a 40-year-old English woman and a 26-year-old American woman who let her impulses take charge. But Sophie learned from Benedict’s earlier anecdotes that the curly-haired man _used_ _to_ be as impulsive as her, so maybe she _should_ have enlightened him? It was too late, anyway, so that grudge now had to stay hidden from public view.

 

* * *

 

_Now, here’s a problem: I haven’t looked over someone’s child in a_ _long_ _time._

Tom was currently sitting at his kitchen counter, his laptop open in front of him, and his light blue journal kept closed with an attached black elastic band. A cup of Earl Grey was sitting on a saucer next to (but at an appropriate distance from) his laptop, along with a small bowl of strawberries.

To be fair, Tom _had_ babysat before. He always remembered the first time he had done so, a year after he started attending Eton College.

_[Tom had returned to his home in the outskirts of Oxford, where the neighbour next door had asked him and his older sister, Sarah, to look over her 2-year-old son. The neighbour was a friend of his mum’s, and they had planned to go out for some strolling around at the market. That year, Sarah had turned 16, and she had relentlessly boasted to both Tom and Emma that she ‘was technically an adult, and could act like one if she wanted to’. Which meant… well, practically acting like a dictatorial figure in front of them when their mum left the room._

_Tom, who was two years younger, couldn’t care less. He loved his sisters, but they tend to get on his nerves sometimes. Emma, who was 9, sometimes sided with Tom and other days sided with Sarah, much to Tom’s annoyance. That was a topic brought up a couple of times during his and Sarah’s arguments._

_Even then, Tom was confident in helping the young boy— really, confident in his babysitting capabilities. His lanky 14-year-old self, curly hair untamed and in the middle of a growth spurt, was sitting with his legs crossed across the toddler, who was playing with a toy xylophone. Tom couldn’t help but think that this child was bound to be some sort of musician one day. His fine motor skills were ridiculous— Tom figured that he wasn’t going to be much of a hassle to look over._

_Sarah was trying to find food in the kitchen to feed the boy with, and since Emma was too young to be on her own, she had to come along. She too was looking in the cupboards with her older sister, so Tom was left in the living room with the 2-year-old._

_As Tom heard the young boy starting to play a melody, he glanced at the installed shelf on their left, studying the framed pictures. Pictures of the boy’s mother with friends and presumably family. An ultrasound photo of the boy was framed next to a music box. Then, the sight of one photo, in particular, made his heart stop._

_A photo of the boy’s mother on her wedding day, smiling as she held her bouquet while in her wedding dress. A black-suited arm was holding her own, but with the obvious rip in the middle of the photo, the owner of the arm was nowhere to be seen. It became obvious to Tom that the neighbour must’ve had… irreconcilable differences with her partner, but what confused him was the fact she still kept that picture out for guests to see. She still kept blatant evidence of her divorce for_ _everyone_ _to see. Tom slowly looked back at the young boy, still playing on the xylophone. His heart hurt at the thought of the boy not being able to understand why he has no father when all the other boys do, why his mother keeps a ripped photo of her and some faceless and unnamed man, why he will eventually live in pain at the thought of the two most loved people he knows separating due to reasons he’ll never come to terms with, growing up like_ _him_ _—]_

Tom gritted his teeth, tightly shutting his eyes as he deeply inhaled. _This is not the time to think about that._

_…anyway_ , the last time Tom had looked over someone’s child(ren) was during the summer two years ago, when Sarah and her husband and children, Emma and _her_ husband, and him and… his ex-girlfriend, had all decided to visit the matriarchal figure of the Hiddleston family— their mother, in Suffolk. It wasn’t for very long, but Tom enjoyed having his niece and nephew teach him how to speak Malayalam to pass the time as everyone else conversed with one another (i.e. his sisters spent at least an hour getting to know Taylor and reassuring that she was better than his _last_ ex-girlfriend at the time, something they now checked to Tom’s dismay).

_[“We’re just looking out for you, Tom,” Emma informed him, crossing her arms over her chest. She had a worried look on her face, which quickly contorted to an annoyed one. “Besides, we know how_ _bored_ _you get after a couple of months each time.” The dirty-blonde haired woman rolled her eyes._

_Tom pinched the bridge of his nose before giving her a stern look. He glanced around, silently grateful that Taylor wasn’t around to hear his younger sister. “I appreciate the love, Em,” he responded sarcastically. “But you— or Sarah— will no longer_ _interrogate_ _Taylor, or… God forbid, any of my_ _future_ _partners, do you hear? It’s a simple request that I’m asking you to fulfil.”_

_“Are you implying that you both_ _won’t_ _last? Goodness, Tom, we’re already on_ _that_ _chapter? I’d advise you not to rush into it so quickly—”_

_Tom interjected sharply. “—_ _Emma_ _.”]_

To be fair, Tom guesses that he really _did_ (unintentionally) imply and predict the short longevity of his last relationship. But considering how long ago that was, he found it redundant to continue dwelling on it.

His agent Christian had planned for Tom to visit the children at a hospital about thirty minutes from his district, where they could host a screening of _Avengers: Infinity War_ for the ones who weren’t able to a couple of weeks ago. Specifically, Tom had briefly mentioned his want for morale-lifting events during this month over cups of coffee, which Christian had taken notes on. Something to get his spirits up while he stayed home.

After finishing his email discussing just that, Tom sipped the rest of his tea and ate the rest of his strawberries. He headed over to his bathroom upstairs, where he realised that he was sufficiently dressed in his ‘uniform’, a navy blue crew-neck jumper with dark jeans.

A couple of months ago, Tom had gone out for (a platonic) dinner with Luke, deciding to ‘treat’ his publicist despite not going out to many events at the time. There, Luke had told him about the tale of fellow English actor Daniel Radcliffe wearing the same outfit for nearly half a year to piss off paparazzi, which the curly-haired man _intently_ listened to.

…Tom became a firm believer of that, so there he was in the fifth month of 2018, wearing the same outfit to every non-premiere. Well, he had an excuse that at 37, he didn’t _really_ care about what he looked like at this point. The clothes were of good quality, anyway.

As Tom walked down the stairs, he heard the patter of Bobby’s feet on the mahogany hardwood floors as the spaniel excitedly ran around his kitchen, and the curly haired man suddenly remembered that he would have to drop Bobby off at his friend Joshua’s house again, which was less than five minutes away. Tom assumed that he’d be out for over three hours, and he wouldn’t dare leave Bobby alone while being gone for that amount of time. Also, he didn’t exactly know if Benedict’s sons were fine with a dog as enthusiastic as Bobby, so he thought today wouldn’t be a good day to find out. Phoning Joshua, who was apparently off from work that day, Tom agreed to drive over to his home to drop his dog off. Well, even as Joshua had quipped that Tom was more likely to experience separation anxiety towards his dog than Bobby was to him, and the curly haired man amusedly rolled his eyes before completing the rest of his tasks.

 

* * *

 

The drive to the neighbouring district didn’t take too long, especially since Tom headed a bit up north of the borough to let his friend look over Bobby while he was at Benedict’s house. If he had to be honest, he felt a bit weird driving in his Jaguar F-Type again after months of chauffeurs driving for him or standing while taking the Tube. He had been meaning to sell that car, anyway.

Finding a vacant spot in front of the Cumberbatches’ lot was quite simple since Tom remembered Benedict and Sophie’s tendency to get ride shares rather than _actually_ drive, and when he did so he had to turn around to park parallel to the other neighbours’ cars. Turning the engine off, Tom exited the car and closed the door before taking a deep breath. He checked his phone’s lock screen. _17:21_

In the corner of Tom’s eye, he could see someone across the street walk out with a reasonably-sized plastic bag, and he turned around to look up at Benedict and Sophie’s house. He figured that he’d have some fresh air before heading to the front door, so the curly haired man merely stood on the pavement in front of the steps as he stretched his limbs out.

Wearing his glasses, Tom was able to vaguely make out the person across the street, a short brunette woman with a black cardigan over a black & white striped shirt and leggings. He didn’t see their face, but as soon as he turned around to start walking up the steps, he was stopped by a yelling voice.

“Tom?” A voice called out from across the street. “Is that you?”

The curly-haired man froze in his spot, particularly at the sound of an _eerily_ familiar American voice. He didn’t know whether to be disturbed or satisfied with himself for remembering the owner’s voice at this point. With much hesitation, he glanced up to find the _last_ person he wanted to see. Not because he hated her— it wasn’t that at all, but… well, he didn’t like to admit that he had rather inappropriate thoughts about her while _drunk_ two weeks ago. Trust him, it was one of the only few incidents that he vividly remembered that night.

What he _didn’t_ remember until right now was that she was the Cumberbatches’ neighbour, having inferred it from the time he spoke to her from her home, which bared a resemblance to Benedict’s, on Skype last month. Well, and also practically getting it confirmed by Benedict himself. She was a lot closer than Tom thought.

“Tom?” Mara repeated, staring at him with wide eyes. He could tell that she was confused but waved at him nonetheless. In her hand was the waste, and Tom realised that she was only out here to take out some of her trash. 

Dumbfounded, Tom waved back at her, feeling his heartbeat increase by the second. His first thought was to raise his voice and hopefully carry out a conversation, but he remembered that other people live on the street and he didn’t want to disturb any of the neighbours (or get complaint letters from the Council). So Tom approached the pavement, adrenaline reaching its zenith, and glanced left and right before scurrying across the street to where Mara was. Her eyes followed his figure as he approached her and eventually stood mere centimetres away from her.

“Hi,” he greeted louder than usual, before biting his cheek and briefly glancing away from Mara. _Don't act as if you're a lunatic who masturbated to her. Just… act normal._

“Hey,” Mara replied quieter, giving him a small smile. “Um… how are you?”

Tom peeked at the Cumberbatches’ house across the street at the corner of his eye before locking eyes with the shorter brunette woman. “Fine. Er— yeah, I’m fine. What about you?”

Her eyes averted from him to the pavement, and back at him. “Oh, I’m good too. So…” Mara awkwardly gestured around the street. “Um— I don’t mean any offence, but… what are you doing _here_ , if I may ask…?”

“Erm, well… Sophie called me earlier, asking if I could look over her sons while she and Ben are out for tonight.”

Mara unintentionally gave Tom a sour look, which was something he picked up on. “Oh… _you’re_ babysitting for them?” Her tone had vague hints of… dissatisfaction?

“Er… _yes_ ,” Tom reluctantly confirmed, unsure as to why Mara was suddenly not very happy at this revelation. “Just— just for tonight, though. They’re attending a launch dinner for Ben’s new drama… do you know about it? _Patrick Melrose_.”

The shorter brunette woman merely blinked at him. “I… _don’t_ , actually.” _Wait, was I_ _supposed_ _to know this? Like, I sound like a total bitch for saying that, but it was probably a secret project or whatever._

_…then why does Tom know? Do I have a right to be offended?_

“Oh.” Tom felt like he had made a mistake by telling her. _Was I allowed to say this?_ “Well… I actually haven’t seen it yet, but I heard that Ben executes the image of a humorous yet dysfunctional person quite well.”

“…I see,” Mara responded with a hesitant but a paradoxically enthused tone. Enthused because, well… it’s Benedict Cumberbatch, the exceptionally well-read and adept actor. Hesitant because not only is he _Benedict Cumberbatch_ , but he’s also the husband of the theatre/opera director that she isn’t exactly on good terms with at the moment. Mara was irritated at herself for showing interest towards something related to a man, the same man who was involved in something she apparently opposed. …he _is_ talented though, as much as she hated to admit it at this very moment.

Tom slid his hands in his pockets, awkwardly tapping his foot on the floor as Mara opened the trash lid to drop the plastic bag in and dusted her hands off. She turned around to face— _look up_ at the curly haired man. _Her_ adrenaline was skyrocketing, and Mara decided to ask him something on a whim.

Well, it’s not like she _actually_ thought this question through. Or its consequences. Hell, the beloved actor was _there_ in front of her, though…?

“Um, so… _hey_ ,” the shorter brunette woman began, cheeks turning pink. “I know you’ve got to head over there, so this might be kind of stupid for me to ask… but do you maybe want to, um…” At this point, Mara became absolutely flustered. “… come over? Just for a bit, maybe. Like… ten minutes tops. Don’t want to keep them waiting, yeah.”

When Mara finished, Tom blankly stared at her for a moment, throat dry at the idea of staying in her _house_. It was as if he’d learn practically _everything_ about her the moment he stepped inside, which tended to be the case when Tom visited other people. However, during the time where he _didn’t_ respond, her eyebrows furrowed, and she continued to speak in a nervous tone. “Look, I mean, um, if you don’t want to, that’s _totally_ fine, um—“

“—I’d _love_ to,” Tom answered truthfully, his eyes widening. He glanced at Benedict’s house behind him _again_ , before facing Mara. “I really do. But… I think I _do_ need to head back over, as much as I’d like to be a guest at your home.” He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps another time? I’m so sorry.”

Her eyes widened at the sudden contact, and Tom had mistaken it for blatant apprehension, so he quickly took his hand away from her. 

“Um… okay.” The shorter brunette woman took a deep breath, rather embarrassed. “Yeah, that’s okay. Really— totally fine. I mean, I don’t know what I expected—“

“— it’s fine, darling,” Tom interjected, giving her a small smile. He, too, was embarrassed at potentially crossing a (physical) boundary. _Her_ eyes widened at the endearment. “I’m sorry, but I swear, another time, alright? It was nice seeing you, again, even if it _really_ wasn’t for very long.” He was starting to walk backwards, turning around to glance left and right before running back to the other side of the road. Mara merely gave him a thumbs up, and Tom mirrored her actions. “Another time!” he yelled— _repeated_ , and Mara nervously chuckled as she turned around to walk back inside, shaking her head at _how embarrassing that was_. As Tom knocked on Benedict and Sophie’s door, he abruptly stopped in his running thoughts, heart pounding at _what just happened_. _She just asked you to come over, and you didn’t even accept her invitation. She’ll never want to invite you over again, she’ll think you’re rude, dismissive—_

_—wait, she didn’t even look ill, though…_ _what_ _did Sophie mean—_

Said woman interrupted his thoughts as she greeted him while opening the front door. Sophie extended her arms out for a hug. 

“Tom! Hi! It’s been quite a while, dear.” 

 

* * *

 

What happened was the usual routine— Tom would walk up the steps of Joshua’s semi-detached home, Joshua would open the door, they’d loudly greet each other and hug. That night was like any other day, really.

For some context, Tom had known the raven-haired man since their first year at Cambridge University, especially since they were both housed in Pembroke. Naturally handsome (and Tom thought he still had it going for him) with a gift for maths… something Tom wished he possessed. He wouldn’t deny the many days they spent in the library or the common room, Joshua not minding the incessant questions Tom asked on his calculus or physics papers, even if he didn’t understand much and _even_ if his brain practically started hurting at the sight of vector equations. Occasionally, Joshua would also ask Tom about his Greek and Latin texts, requesting Tom to translate vulgar phrases that he heard the other Classics students tell to test each other before laughing hysterically as they walked to class.

What also brought them closer together was their mutual love for rugby, and Tom always laughed every time he found their team’s [group photo](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/183823592488/a-low-res-joshua-hewitt-and-tom-hiddleston-2001) hung up on the wall of the hallway that led to Joshua’s living room.

_[“It’s my house,” Joshua commented when Tom confusedly pointed at the photo of their 20-year-old selves. “I can put any photos I want up. Don’t you judge me, Mr. I-put-my-film-awards-on-my-bloody-kitchen-counter. Do you want me to put up the photo I took of you with the fresh scar on your hand from that one rugby match?”_

_“The one where I’m at the hospital, and my eyes are all watery?” Tom asked incredulously, and Joshua slowly nodded. “You still_ _have_ _that photo?!”]_

His home almost looked like an IKEA showroom, much to Tom’s amusement. If anything, however, Tom always believed that his sense of style was always better than his. The occasional splash of colour on minimally-designed furniture. Well-kept house plants were in every room, _including_ the hallway, and abstract paintings were hung up.

Joshua opened the double doors that led to his living room, and it was to his horror that stacks of paperwork and pencilled-in line graphs sat on the wooden coffee table. Off to the side, a whiteboard with semi-finished probability equations sat on a stand nearby. Tom snickered, amused by his friend’s continued disregard for organisation.

“Goodness, sorry mate,” Joshua apologised as he rushed over to fold the graphs and divide the paperwork stacks to fit onto the bookshelves, which were installed next to the television. “I didn’t have enough time to fix up the place before you came knocking on the door. Life of an actuary, I guess.”

“No, no, it’s fine, really,” Tom accepted as he knelt down to pet Bobby, who ran over to him, before standing up again. “Let me help.”

Joshua slid the first heavy portion of paperwork on the top shelf. “I’m good— this will only take a few—“

“—no, I insist—“ At this point, Tom had gotten the second heavy portion, mildly surprised by its weight. He headed next to Joshua, sliding it next to the first stack. 

“It’s fine— you’re the guest here, just relax, you’re probably tired,” Joshua rambled as he grabbed the rest of the paperwork and slid it next to the second stack. However, his indirect pleas to _stop helping_ were redundant as Tom carried the whiteboard stand to the corner. The raven-haired man gave him a deadpanned look.

“…you know, you have _no_ shame. Even now.”

“Just offering my services. I _do_ have functioning arms and legs.”

“No functioning shame receptor, though,” Joshua retorted before standing in front of Tom with his hands on his hips. “As always, I don’t mean to sound like a dick so late in the day. Thank you for helping, even if it _was_ unnecessary.” Tom flashed an unabashed smile at him, which was a sufficient replacement for _you’re oh so very welcome._

“What—“ Tom gestured at the paperwork, graphs, and the whiteboard. “—what are you currently working on, if I may ask?”

“Er, that—“ Joshua reluctantly glanced at the stacks of paperwork. “— _that_ is what I’ve fleshed out so far since Friday. I attended a seminar on pensions and healthcare, and we’re developing a new research project to better understand and alleviate any issues from the income protection market here in the UK.” The raven-haired man awkwardly shifted in his spot. “I know, that sounds _really_ boring.”

Tom shook his head. “ _No_ , I think that sounds _really_ interesting, actually. Where do the issues stem from?” He was genuinely curious, considering the amount of content that must’ve been on those papers.

Now, Joshua didn’t hesitate to reply. “Mainly from the reduction in state benefits for people who receive provisions from healthcare. I had to draw graphs on average pension rates in the region to start out— erm, which was what you saw rough drafts of on my coffee table. Those stacks of paper are the plans written out by the board.”

The curly haired man situated himself on the light grey Scandinavian-style sectional sofa, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. Not long after, Bobby trod over to Tom, calmly situating himself at his owner’s feet and staring up at him. Tom leaned forward a bit to rub him behind his ears as he smiled down at him. Joshua chuckled at the sight as he sat down perpendicular to Tom.

“You’re a real-life superhero of some sort,” Tom complimented, glancing up at the man across from him. “I’ll thank you when I’m retired.”

“Oh, _be quiet_ ,” Joshua responded, rolling his eyes in amusement. “Have you seen a superhero stay inside of a consulting firm all day?”

“You don’t necessarily have to be out _physically_ restraining the moral evil.”

Joshua opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it as Tom raised a brow at him. He didn’t speak any more about the topic, and Tom was satisfied with himself for, yet again, preventing underestimation.

“Well, um, how are you right now?” Tom continued, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back on the sofa.

“Fine, fine,” Joshua responded enthusiastically. “Your spaniel stayed _very_ well-behaved while I solved my equations. Good boy.”

Tom chuckled. “As always.” He paused for a moment. “Anything interesting going on in your life? Besides the research project, which is interesting enough.”

At this question, the raven-haired man became flustered. Tom raised a brow at his reaction before he timidly replied.

“Erm, I’m… seeing someone.”

“ _Seeing_ someone?” Tom coughed out and continued to clear his throat. “ _Seeing_ someone? Am I allowed to ask for you to elaborate?” He was _absolutely_ shocked.

In the past, Tom would hear of Joshua’s on-off relationships while they were at Cambridge (and even after, mind you), and Joshua himself had eventually admitted that perhaps he wasn’t so… _lucky_ in the relationship department for the past few years. Instead, Joshua focused on his career after being hired as an actuary, placing all of his efforts in becoming a vital supplement for the company he works for. He figured at this time, executing successful projects repeatedly, would pay off— which, it did.

Joshua took a deep breath. “Yes, _Mr. Hiddleston_ , you _are_ allowed to ask for me to elaborate.” He paused for a second, gathering his words together. “She’s a wonderful person. Intelligent, witty, bloody beautiful. _Scottish_ , by the way, like half of you.”

The curly haired man raised his eyebrows. “Scottish? Where—“

“—Glasgow.”

_Almost an hour from my father’s home…_

“Ah, I see,” Tom responded, slowly nodding. “And… er, how exactly did you meet her, _Mr. Hewitt_? What’s her name?” Now, he had an amused tone in his voice.

The raven-haired man gave Tom a deadpanned look. “You know, I should’ve mentioned her name first— it’s Catriona. Never met anyone else with that name, but it sounds quite nice. I met her…” Tom noticed that his cheeks and ears turned pink. “…I met her at work.”

Before Tom responded, Joshua quickly interjected. “I know, _I know_ , it’s inadvisable to date your co-workers, but… we collaborated for an earlier project. She’s got a keen eye— I almost passed a plan to the board with a seemingly minor error that would have _drastically_ changed results. Oh my goodness, I would’ve lost my bloody job if Cat— _Catriona_ wasn’t working with me.” The raven-haired man cringed for letting the nickname slip in front of Tom.

“How long have you, er… ‘seen’ her?” the curly haired man questioned in amusement.

Joshua pondered this for a second. Then, “About three months so far. It’s going very well, actually.”

Tom slowly nodded at his response. “Well… I’m happy for you— really.” 

_Who is someone that I know_ _really_ _well and_ _isn’t_ _in a relationship at the moment?_

_…oh, right. Me._

If Tom’s conscience had eyes, it would have rolled them. _No, but seriously, who?_

_Luke is married. My agent is married with children. James is married. Joanna… she has a boyfriend, as far as I remember. Ben is obviously married with children. Chris is married with children— oh, for fuck’s sake. Emma’s married. Sarah’s even married with children. Practically everyone from my year in Eton and Cambridge are all married with children. That’s… fine._

“Thanks, mate,” Joshua piped, fingers fiddling with themselves in his lap. “Not to sound so banal, but she and I compliment each other quite well. This might last… you know, this might last. I _really_ think so this time. The other day, she came over and we decided to cook this pescatarian entrée that we found in a cooking book at work…“

_Even_ _Joshua_ _is seeing someone for_ _more_ _than a month. It used to be a lesser duration when we were younger._

As Tom was listening to Joshua give a narrative, he briefly glanced up at the hung photo of their 20-year-old selves on the rugby team. His blonder, youthful self widely grinning as he stood next to Joshua, equally youthful as he gave a more ‘tough’ look. Tom looked back at the older counterpart of the raven-haired man, features more defined but still had the same determined look as he did in his photo. As for himself, well…

_I should’ve gone over to her house. It’s been 17 years since that photo, and even the most romantically unlucky guy I’ve ever met in my life has already found the person for him._

He was simultaneously making plans on how to visit Mara later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The excerpt from the libretto for Giuseppi Verdi’s _Otello_ is in public domain.


	10. May, 2018: 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talks over tea.  
> Post gets sent to the wrong person.  
> Unexpected visitor during a practise session of Sibelius’s Violin Concerto.  
> Learning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I got carried away with the retorts...  
> Thank you for your kudos/comments/subscriptions.  
> Remember, there are links to give visual/auditory references.

  _May 2018_

 

“Earl Grey?” Benedict called out/asked as he poured a small portion of milk in the teacup.

Benedict was currently in the kitchen brewing tea. The morning sun was barely starting to shine through the window, and as Benedict shut off the stovetop, the only sound that could now be heard was Tom’s low humming as he patiently sat on the couch in the living room. He was flipping through a book on French artist Henri Matisse’s works (out of all things), which was sitting on the coffee table with a potted plant.

It took Tom a moment to register Benedict’s question. “Oh— yes, please,” he responded, whipping his head to the older actor.

Tom set the Matisse book down to look through his phone, removing all of his notifications and doing his so-called ‘weekly purging’ through contacts, messages, notes, and emails. In his contacts app, he found a couple of unnamed numbers. Tom recognised the first few as numbers from other agencies, so he kept them, but failing to remember who owned the last one, he ended up deleting it.

Benedict rolled his eyes in amusement. “So predictable,” he jibed. “Have you explored other flavours?”

Tom put his phone back in his pocket. “I always come back to Earl Grey.”

This earned a laugh from Benedict.

“Venture out into the promising world of _tea flavours_ , it’ll be good for you,” he replied.

Tom raised a brow at him. “ _There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so_.” *****

“ _This above all: to thine own self be true._ ” ****** Benedict cited as he walked over to the living room with coasters to set on the coffee table. “I’m assuming you religiously follow that line, but see? I can incorporate _Hamlet_ quotes into my daily vernacular as well as you can. You’re forgetting that I _played_ the Danish prince as well.”

“I played him just last September, do you have a contention against that?” Tom amusedly asked.

“August of 2015. Long before _you_.” He headed back to the kitchen to get the teacups.

Tom mockingly gaped at him. “So we’re using premiere dates as an excuse? None of the _I’m-older-than-you-I-read-everything-before-you-have_ type of argument?”

“Hm, not today, I suppose,” Benedict retorted, carefully handing the hot teacup to Tom as he set his own down on a saucer, which sat on top of the coaster.

Sipping on his tea, Tom felt considerably more relaxed with the familiar beverage. He fixed his glasses.

In about thirty minutes, Benedict was going to head to a press conference for _Patrick Melrose_ somewhere in London. As his mum was still busy filming for _Holby City_ , and their second option was… out (as Sophie claimed), Tom had agreed to step in again as the temporary sitter. He wasn’t really doing anything this month, besides the visit to the children’s hospital.

Sophie had already left for Buxton for the first staging rehearsal of _Otello_ , since the commute there was going to take up a portion of her day. When Tom first walked into the foyer, he found a list of possible foods, toys, and any tendencies that the boys have taped onto the door of the coat closet. It was now neatly folded in his front jean pocket.

“How long are you going to be out for?” Tom asked.

Benedict pondered this for a moment. “Erm… probably until the early afternoon.” He stared at the wall clock that was conveniently hung up in front of the entrance to the kitchen/living room. Since he was wearing his contacts, he didn’t have to strain as much. “That’s a couple of hours… I mean, feel free to use anything we have to make lunch for yourself.”

Tom shook his head. “I couldn’t possibly. I’ll probably order some takeaway to be delivered here— ‘guess it’ll be my ‘cheat day’ today…”

Benedict merely blinked at him. “That’s too much of a hassle,” he dismissed. “We have a lot in the refrigerator and the cupboards, I promise. The vegan options might dominate a bit, but I’m sure you won’t find an issue with that.”

Heavily sighing, Tom complied. “…alright.” He felt a bit bad cooking with ingredients that he didn’t even buy with _his_ money, in a house that wasn’t even _his_.

As if Benedict had read his mind, he lightly scolded him. “Don’t feel bad. Sophie and I could care less, really.”

“No, it’s just…”

“ _No_ , you’re feeling bad. You’re _also_ forgetting that we’ve been friends for nearly a decade, and that I know all of your mannerisms by heart,” he interjected.

Tom stared at him as he continued sipping his tea. “Must you call me out?”

“Only when I deem it necessary,” Benedict retorted, sipping his tea as his eyebrows shot up.

Tom jokingly put a hand to his heart. “Hm, I’m feeling the love.”

Benedict responded dryly, “My most honoured recipient.”

For the next minute or so, the two British actors quietly sat in the living room, continuing to sip on their tea. Tom was the one to speak up, eventually.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who _is_ the other person that babysits your sons?” Tom asked out of curiosity. “Besides your mum, of course.”

“Erm…” Benedict lightly drummed his fingers on his knee. “You don’t remember when we spoke to her on Skype last month? It’s Mara. I gave you her number just in case you both could look over the boys.” When Tom gave him a blank look, he cited the rest of her number. “ _+44 07…_ ”

Tom mentally facepalmed. _That’s her’s— I just deleted her number. I can’t believe— I’m— oh my God. Of course this happens to_ _me._

“Right, right,” Tom commented, silently fuming in his seat. He maintained a stoic look.

“Why are you asking?”

Scratching the back of his head, Tom continued, starting to calm down. “Well, erm… when I came over two days ago, Sophie told me that Mara couldn’t babysit because she was… er, _indisposed_.”

Benedict merely blinked. “ _Did_ she, now?” he questioned, raising a brow. He couldn’t believe it.

Tom nodded in response.

“Of course, she told you _that_ ,” Benedict muttered, rolling his eyes. He took a deep breath. “Er, she’s lying.”

At this, Tom’s eyes widened. “Lying? How so?”

Benedict finished his tea, setting the cup on the coffee table. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he responded. “Erm… you see, er, last month… while you were in China, and I was in Singapore, Sophie was still at home and had decided to invite Mara over one day. Reportedly, Mara had a strange conversation with a neighbour of ours about the entire shed debacle. You know, the one I was telling you about since last year?”

“Er, how you’re planning to have a shed built in your garden?”

“Yes, that.” Benedict continued. “Anyway, Mara brought up the conversation to Sophie, and Sophie had asked her on her position. It turns out that… er, Mara _doesn’t_ think the shed should be built, following the other arguments about encroachment and what not. So, to sum it up, Sophie wasn’t too happy about that, and now they’re no longer speaking.”

Tom raised a brow at this.

“You see, we’ve known Mara for a while now,” Benedict sheepishly proceeded. “She’s… had the tendency to be, er, _indecisive_ at times, and I don’t doubt that she was probably a bit flustered being caught in the middle of our issue. I will admit that I was a bit… _irked_ hearing about her reasoning for _her_ decision. However, I’m quite disappointed that Sophie resorted to lying about her wellbeing as an alibi to avoid her. There are other ways to approach this.” 

_She’s indecisive._ “Yeah, I was about to say…” Tom trailed off. “Erm, so they’re _really_ no longer speaking?”

Benedict shook his head. “At the moment, no. They’ve never gotten into an argument of this scale, so I don’t actually know if Mara forgives easily. Sophie tends to, but I’m not sure if that might be the case this time.”

“I see.” Tom had finished his tea as well. “Have you spoken to her about it— Sophie, I mean?”

“Of course I have,” Benedict replied. “She’s quite adamant about what she likes and _doesn’t_ like. As of right now, she’s certain that Mara isn’t on her ‘approved’ list.”

“And Mara?”

Taking a deep breath, Benedict shook his head again. “If anything, Mara will find it better to avoid _me_ as well, purely out of association. Despite what Sophie told you, her health is fine, though.”

Tom hadn’t even noticed his own relief, even he _did_ doubt her words earlier. “That’s good. I— I meant, er, about her wellbeing. _Not_ the fact that she’s avoiding you.”

Benedict chuckled. “I know what you meant.” He glanced back at the wall clock. _9:31_

“Oh, I better head out now. Can you take the cups to the sink, please?”

“Yes, of course,” Tom replied, grabbing their teacups and saucers as he stood up. Benedict had reminded him of Sophie’s list before waving ‘goodbye’ and leaving to call an Uber.

Now, Tom was left alone in the Cumberbatches’ house, attentively waiting to hear if their sons would wake up (he was warned by Sophie that Hal was a crier when he wakes) from the baby room. To be nice, he decided to wash the teacups and the kettle and left it out to dry afterwards, as he normally would back home. Again, Bobby was staying in Joshua’s house, but he mentioned something about inviting his not-girlfriend-but-close-to-being-so Catriona over to cook breakfast together. 

…Tom hoped to ask Benedict or Sophie if he could bring his spaniel over next time.

Heading over to the ‘library room’, Tom situated himself at Sophie’s piano. The windows were already open inside, letting sunlight enter. The keys had a very light film of dust. _She’s been busy, she has no time to play._ He had no recollection of Benedict ever learning the piano, so _this_ piano had no one playing on it.

The other day, he was watching an indie film on the telly, wherein the background of a contemplation scene was the sound of a rather atmospheric piece being played on the piano. For days Tom had scoured the internet for the name of it, but to no avail could he find it. All he remembered was the melody, having to replay the scene a couple of times to memorise the right notes. It was a lost cause for him to remember the chords and the bass line, as much as he tried to.

As soon as he stepped on the sustaining pedal of the piano, he heard wailing from upstairs. Tom sighed, standing up and exiting the room to head upstairs. There, the curly-haired man walked down the hall to the baby room, where he found Hal crying in his cot.

Tom quietly cooed as he leaned over to pick up and hold Hal in his arms. He glanced over at Kit, who was still fast asleep in his cot. Being wary of the toy blocks and xylophone on the floor, Tom carried Hal out into the hallway.

“Are you hungry?” he asked quietly, studying the infant. As if on cue, he heard a little rumble from the infant, and Hal stared back at him with his eyebrows creased.

“I guess you are, then,” Tom accepted, carefully walking down the stairs with the boy in his arms. The boy started to grab onto Tom’s jumper, which he amusedly ignored. While starting to turn away from the foyer to the hallway to the kitchen, Tom heard knocking on the front door.

_Knock, knock, knock!_

_Knock, knock, knock!_

Glancing down at Hal, Tom headed over to the front door. He peeked through, finding a short woman with a cardboard box at her side. Carefully holding the infant in one arm, he slowly opened the door with his free hand.

He had to tilt his head down a bit. Out of all people, it was Mara, the violinist neighbour from across the street. Tom immediately realised that they were almost matching with one another, both wearing navy-blue jumpers and black bottoms. 

“Oh—“ Mara gasped a bit, giving Tom a quizzical look. “Um… hey. Again.” She nervously chuckled. _He’s here again? I’m literally across the street, how_ _petty_ _i_ _s Sophie being right now?_

“Hey,” Tom greeted, holding Hal a little closer to his chest. The boy started to writhe in his grasp. “Erm…” He eyed the cardboard box.

Mara followed his line of sight. “Oh, uh, _this_ —“ she points at the cardboard box, “— _this_ was mailed to me on accident. It’s for Benedict, as it says on the box.”

“Oh!” Tom’s eyebrows shot up. He looked down at Hal, then at the cardboard box with an Amazon Prime logo on it, and then at Mara, who blankly stared at him. Trying to decide how to carry the box in _and_ holding Hal simultaneously, she spoke up.

“Um…” Mara began, as if she knew what Tom was trying to figure out. “I can just bring the box _inside_.”

“Yes, yes, erm…” Tom moved back a bit to let Mara carry the container inside the foyer, before setting it down near the coat closet. 

He watched her do so. “You had it mailed to _you?_ ”

Mara snorted. “Yeah. I mean, I can’t blame them if they’re quite busy, but last time I checked… my name is _not_ Benedict Cumberbatch.” She reluctantly stared up at the home security camera installed in the upper corner of the foyer, before giving Tom a small smile.

As soon as Tom was about to respond, Hal started to wail again. Mara eyed the baby in his grasp, taking a deep breath.

“You should feed him,” Mara advised as she started to exit. “He’s a bit hungry.” At this, Tom gave her a surprised look.

“Er— yeah,” was all that Tom could say as he watched Mara wave ‘goodbye’, walking down the steps, and carefully heading back to her house.

_I should’ve gone over to her house._

He shook his head, delving into more ‘important’ thoughts.

_How in the world did she know so quickly that he was hungry?_ Tom thought as he used his foot to close the front door and hastily locked it with a free hand.

He rolled his eyes. _Maybe because she’s looked over them longer than I have? She would’ve been a great help around here, but if only she didn’t get into that argument with Sophie…_

As he walked through the hallway and into the kitchen, Tom had just noticed the candle he made for Sophie back in March sitting on the countertop. The wick was black, but he noticed that the candle had been well used already.

…he had an idea.

 

* * *

 

_3/4, 97 BPM_

_tick .. tick .. tick_

_tick .. tick .. tick_

_tick .. tick .. tick_

“How loud can I go…” Mara mused, holding her violin in her left hand _and_ her bow at an angle across the fingerboard. With her free hand, she _lightly_ over-exaggerated the drawn circle around the _crescendo_ leading up to the **_f_** , forte, which was where she needed to overpower the entire orchestra. 

Mara tapped the rhythm out on the lip of the music stand with the HB pencil, realising that the _clang, clang_ sound was much softer. Hi-Fi earplugs were in her ears to prevent getting a headache from how _loud_ she needed to play. It was one of those days.

…well, it was actually one of her _lazier_ days. Earlier in the morning, she had [recorded herself](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/184022503033/maras-post-im-not-performing-this-wonderful) playing a piece— something she wasn’t even going to play for her performance with the London Symphony Orchestra. It was mainly to check up on phrasing, but Mara followed that with a complete run-through of her actual _concerto_ as she drank her coffee and tapped out her measures of rest.

After the first practise ‘session’ of the day in her bedroom, Mara had glanced at her wall clock to find that it was already lunchtime. She did her normal post-practice routine of loosening the bow and locking it in place, along with cleaning the instrument from rosin buildup and taking out her earplugs. Finally putting it inside the white case, locking it, and placing it in her storage closet, Mara had headed out to buy some takeaway instead of cooking today. She realised that her outfit looked a bit similar to one she wore last week at home, the black and white stripes and everything, but she didn’t particularly care.

Carrying her music stand and her violin case downstairs to her living room, Mara had decided to change her practise location for the second ‘session’. Right now, though, she was taking a break, turning the television on and watching a repeat of series 8 of Doctor Who as she calmly ate chips. It was the first physical meal she's eaten today, as she was fully preoccupied with practising earlier in the morning, but no one needed to know that.

Suddenly, knocking on the front door could be heard over the television.

_Knock, knock!_

_Knock, knock!_

“Sorry, gotta stop you there,” Mara commented, pausing the telly on a scene with Clara and The Doctor. Still eating her chips, she calmly walked to the hallway and into the foyer. Mara proceeded to eat a chip as she opened the door, and as soon as she saw _who_ knocked, she ceased all biting. Her heart stopped, and she rapidly blinked.

Tom Hiddleston stood at her doorstep, wearing the same outfit she saw him in when she dropped off Benedict’s post two days ago. While wearing his own glasses, he raised his eyebrows at the sight of her _with half-rimmed glasses_ holding a container of chips, mid-bite, and she too was surprised at the sight of him holding a black cube-like box with a blue ribbon tied around it… or really, the sight of him in general.

He was attempting to not hyperventilate. His anxiety was starting to reach a peak. 

_I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. I’m_ _actually_ _here._

Tom continued on with other thoughts. 

_I didn’t know she wore glasses_ , Tom thought to himself. _She’s probably been wearing contacts every time I’ve seen her. She’s really pretty with glasses._

Mara blankly stared at him. _He’s… here. Oh my God. He’s here. Like I asked him to come over last week._ She fidgeted in her spot. _Wait, shit, is my hair fine? My clothes? Shit, this looks like what I wore last week. I’m also eating fries in front of him like an idiot, great._

“(Hi),” Mara attempted to greet as she covered her mouth with her hand, failing to eat and speak simultaneously. She swallowed soon after, becoming flustered. “Sorry, _hi_.” 

_Literally, just… no. He’s gonna be like_ _What the fuck, Mara?_ _and I’m gonna agree with him. Way to embarrass yourself already— it hasn’t even been two minutes._

Tom nervously chuckled, not minding. “Hi. Er, is it a bad time for me to be here?”

Mara nervously shook her head. “No, uh, not at all. You’re lucky that I’m here right now. Come in, come in.” She gestured for him to enter, and she eyed the black box in his hands as he stepped inside.

“Did you already eat lunch?”

“Oh— yes, I did before I got here.”

_He’s in your house. Hello, he’s in your house. You let him in your house, now he’s here._

As soon as Tom entered, he immediately felt how cosy her home was. Next to the front door was a shoe rack, holding several pairs of heels, yet one pair each of boots, sandals, flats, and tennis shoes. With the walnut-coloured floors and off-white wall paint, and the potted house plant sitting near the stairs… he liked the atmosphere. It _did_ feel a little humid.

“Sorry, it might feel a little humid inside my house,” Mara apologised, seeing his uncertain face. “My violin is, unfortunately, _very_ particular about the conditions it likes and _doesn’t_ like. The humidity levels started to drop again here in London, so I had to turn my humidifier on…”

“It’s fine,” Tom dismissed, giving her a small smile. _She really cares about the instrument— after all, it’s part of her livelihood._ He studied the minimalistic paintings on the walls of her hallway. 

“Uh, if you don’t mind…” Mara began, feeling a bit awkward. “You’re here because…”

“…because I wanted to compensate for not being able to come over,” Tom finished. “I felt quite bad last week, so I wanted to make it up to you. _This_ —“ he gestures down at the black box, “—is also part of that compensation.” 

Mara’s heart was palpitating at this point. _That’s— that’s so sweet. He’s so nice, oh my God._

Holding her container of chips with one hand, Mara took the box with the other hand. Her eyes widened at the weight of it.

“Um… no offence, but… what _is_ this, Tom?”

“You’ll find out once you open it,” he cheekily hinted.

She gave him a deadpanned look before tittering, yet Tom merely smiled at her in response.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Mara continued. She gestured around her house with her occupied arms. “This is my house, obviously. You’ve _obviously_ been to Ben’s house, so the layout of my house is pretty similar. Well… except that I don’t have an extra bedroom replacing the attic… or a balcony, or a _plant room_ , but that’s fine.” Her face got sour as she elaborated, but quickly reverted to a content expression.

Tom didn’t comment on her fluctuating facial expressions.

“Also, the home office with the bookshelves and the piano? It’s pretty much the same except… I _don’t_ have a piano. Um, and a couple of storage boxes with unopened awards.”

Tom raised a brow. “You don’t open your awards?”

“No, what for?” Mara replied, smirking at her _Ragnarök_ reference. “Well, actually… no. I just… don’t. I don’t find any reason to open or display them, it’s just nice to know that I won them.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

All of a sudden, Tom felt a bit bad at how _he_ had displayed his awards in his room (and on his kitchen counter, but he didn’t need to tell Mara that). He gave her a sheepish look.

“Um, so…” the shorter brunette woman continued. “Do you wanna head to the kitchen… slash living room?” She inwardly cringed, sensing the complete awkwardness. _This is officially the most awkward situation ever._

Tom slowly nodded. “I’ll go wherever you lead me,” he replied, gesturing to the hallway as he grinned down at her. Mara complied, leading him through the hallway and into the kitchen/living room. She headed to the kitchen while Tom temporarily stayed at the boundary between the rooms.

There, Tom glanced around, studying the two connected rooms. In the living room were grey couches with a folded bohemian-style throw blanket sitting on one of them. Mara’s white violin case sat on the couch, while her music stand, next to the couch, held a closed urtext book.

> _Jean Sibelius, Concerto in D Minor, Opus 47 — Violin and Piano Reduction_

The television was on, paused on a scene of Jenna Coleman mid-dialogue as Peter Capaldi looked down at her. Tom smirked. _She was watching Doctor Who_. 

On the wall were a couple photographs hung up above one of the grey couches. Walking over, Tom studied each of the photographs. One of Mara laughing and making silly faces with friends, another of her posing with… the _other_ violin (which he still wanted to ask about), another of her _squatting_ with praying hands along with a tall brunette man who posed in a similar fashion (and had the same eyes as her, as Tom noticed), and  [one of Mara hugging a woman](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/184022499538/mara-blanchard-and-caroline-tickell-january-2018) with mousy brown curly hair and motioning to kiss her cheek. 

Off to the side was an  [older picture](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/184022505063/a-low-res-juliana-matsuoka-and-mara-blanchard) of a young raven-haired girl with a toothy grin, holding up a peace sign, and she had her arm around a small toddler girl, even younger with lighter brown hair in pigtails, holding up one finger instead of two. Staring at her seemingly large dark brown eyes, Tom realised that the toddler was Mara, and he smiled warmly.

“Tom, you’re _so_ sweet.”

He was snapped out of his thoughts. He whipped his head over to Mara, who was standing in the kitchen. Finishing her chips, she was situated at the kitchen counter, where she had already opened the black box. Mara was holding up a candle jar with red wax.

She sniffed the candle. “It’s apple scented, too! I remember going apple picking with my dad when I was younger back in Massachusetts, so this serves as a good homage. Thank you, Tom. Where did you buy it?”

Tom’s cheeks turned pink. “You’re welcome. To answer your question, erm… I sort of, erm, _made_ it.”

Mara gaped at him. “You _made_ it? _This_ candle?” He sheepishly nodded. “No way. Who knew that renowned British actor Tom Hiddleston makes candles in his free time?”

“My younger sister Emma mailed a kit to me for my birthday back in February,” Tom confessed, amused at her comment. “I like learning how to do new things— I believe it helps one become more well-rounded… I suppose.”

“Oh, I _absolutely_ agree.” Mara closed the candle jar and set it down on the kitchen counter. She went over to the sink to quickly wash and dry her hands. “I took a painting course with my cousin when I visited him in Los Angeles one summer. He’s wicked good at painting… I mean, he has a _doctorate_ in art history. As for me… well, my paintings didn’t look _too_ shabby in my opinion, but thank God I’m just a music major.”

Tom chuckled. “I concur with _that_. Drawing and painting has _never_ been my forte.”

“Right?” Mara agreed.

“Maybe it’s a way of being told that we can only excel in _one_ thing as art contenders,” he quipped.

“Hm, that’s both fair _and_ unfair at the same time.”

Tom combed a hand through his hair. “Equal distribution of talent.”

“I doubt that’s the case for you,” Mara retorted, smirking. “Phenomenal actor _and_ star candle maker.”

“And you?” Tom amusedly challenged. “Exceptional violinist _and_ prodigy apprentice for late American painter Bob Ross.”

She stared open-mouthed at him. “ _I_ _can’t_ _believe_ _you_ ,” she groused.

“Er, what do you mean? It’s _true._ ”

“And who told you _that?_ ”

“… _The Camden New Journal_ , _Harper’s_ , _Vanity Fair_ , _Vogue_ , _Time._ Just to name the first few.”

Mara jokingly rolled her eyes. “Come over again when you put Yankee Candle out of business.”

“I certainly _will_ ,” Tom confidently claimed, suppressing his laughter.

She raised an amused brow at him. “You’ll come over again, or put Yankee Candle out of business?”

“ _Both_ ,” Tom countered.

He and Mara bursted out laughing.

“Unbelievable,” Mara exhaled as she continued laughing. “ _Absolutely..._ unbelievable.”

“I would… say the same,” Tom agreed, catching his breath. He wiped a tear from laughter.

As they both quieted down, they both awkwardly shifted in their spots.

“Erm,” Tom began, speaking up. “It’s quite… ingenious of you to put up your _personal_ pictures in the living room. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Mara’s cheeks turned pink. “I _do_ like showcasing my favourite people.” She paused for a moment. “Okay, it just so happens that I show up in all of those pictures, but… disregard that.”

She started to walk over to the living room, moving the music stand. Tom slowly followed after her, and eventually, they both stared at her wall of pictures, knees hitting the couch below it.

“Who is that?” Tom asked, pointing at the photo of Mara and the woman with the mousy brown curly hair. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oh, her…” Mara bit her lower lip. “That’s my friend Caroline. I met her at a music camp when we were teenagers, and we’ve pretty much been close ever since. She’s a violin teacher, now.”

Tom nodded, wondering how Mara looked like when she was a teenager. _Erm, younger, obviously._ “And her?” He then pointed at the old picture of the two young girls making peace signs (well, in Mara’s case, attempting to).

She raised a brow. “The toddler?”

“No, the other girl… the toddler is you though, isn’t it?”

Mara gaped at him. “How obvious is it?”

“Your eyes.” Here, Tom locked eyes with Mara, seeing her pupils dilate. His breath hitched. Tom was arm-to-arm with her at this point, and he could start smelling her perfume. If only they were at that level of knowing each other, and if she’d let him, he’d probably lean in…

It took a moment for Mara to break eye contact. They were (physically) a lot closer than she realised. “Geez, uh…” She nervously chuckled. “It usually takes people a while to find out that the toddler is _me_. Um— _anyway_ , that other girl is, um, my _cousin_ , Juliana. She’s a doctor back in Virginia, in the States, but I haven’t seen her in a while…”

Mara suddenly remembered Tom’s words from earlier. “Hey, you said you had a younger sister, right?”

“Yeah.” Tom shoved his hands in his front pocket. “Her name is Emma, like I said. Erm… she’s five years younger than me. I _also_ have another sister— Sarah, who’s older than me by two years.”

“Hm,” Mara acknowledged. “What do they do, if you don’t mind answering?”

“Well, Emma’s also acting like I am.” This earned a surprised look from Mara. She didn’t know that. “As for Sarah, she’s a journalist in India. In fact, she met her husband in India, so her children— my niece and nephew, are half-Indian.”

…well, to be fair, she didn’t know _that_ either. Or the fact that Tom even had siblings in the first place.

Tom continued. “Do _you_ have siblings?”

“Yeah, I do, um…” Mara began, slowly nodding. “I have, um, an older brother. His name is Kenneth, but _I_ call him Ken. He’s, um… a chemical engineer back in our home state, Massachusetts.” She had a sheepish look on her face. “That’s him, right there.” Mara pointed at the photo of them two prayer squatting.

“How much older?” Tom questioned with a curious tone, despite finding the picture of her and Kenneth absolutely hilarious.

“Three years. 1988. I used to call him ‘grandpa’ when he turned 18,” Mara amusedly responded. “Hey, you know… it was actually his _birthday_ a couple o’ days ago, I made a post about it.”

“Really?”

Mara enthusiastically nodded. She pulled up [her Instagram post](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/184022504333/maras-post-happy-30th-birthday-to-my-older) about it after taking her phone out of her pocket. “On the 9th. The big three-zero.”

Tom inclined his head, and continued reading her post’s caption. “Who’s Callista, if you don’t mind me asking?”

At this, Mara blankly stared at him until she realised that she had mentioned the name _in_ the caption. “Oh! Well, Callista’s… _now_ technically my sister-in-law. My brother proposed to her back in January.”

_[“Where are you right now?” Kenneth pointedly asked. “I need to, um… tell you something.”_

_Mara heavily sighed on her end of the phone line. “I told you during Christmas that I was gonna travel to Zürich in the beginning of January. I’m here visiting Caroline.”_

_She continued. “Besides, what do you need to tell me? Did your rent go up again?”_

_On his end, Kenneth pinched the bridge of his nose. His features softened. “I’m… engaged. Like, um, since… well, an hour ago.”_

_Kenneth had to move his phone inches away from his ear the moment he heard Mara squealing in excitement._

_“Be_ _quiet_ _, will you? I’m trying not to get deaf at 29, thank you.”_

_“Ken, you’re_ _ engaged,_ _oh my God!” Mara exclaimed._

_Kenneth’s cheeks turned pink. “Yeah, well, um…_ _yeah_ _. I know I’ve retained the ‘fuck-everything’ type of attitude for years, but… I actually love it, despite how cheesy it can seem. You know, like Ted and Tracy on top of the lighthouse in_ _How I Met Your Mother_ _. Full on parmesan, pepperjack, and mozzarella. Everything.”_

_“That’s_ _so_ _sweet, though,” Mara gushed. “Congratulations. How did Callista react?”_

_She heard him chuckling. “Thanks, my good sister. And well, after I gave her the ring, she jumped into my arms and we both fell backwards. I ended up hitting my head on the concrete and I’m_ _currently_ _holding an icepack to my head, so there’s… that.”]_

“Congratulations to both of them.” Tom inwardly cringed at how passive-aggressive he might’ve sounded. “Will you be attending their wedding ceremony?”

Mara pondered this for a bit, curious at his tone. “Um… to be honest, they kinda… _put it off_ for now. It’s because my brother’s working on his dissertation for his PhD right now, so his platter is a little hectic right now.” She sat down on the couch, and Tom mirrored her actions. “Callista wouldn’t want to stress him out even more.”

“A PhD?” he asked, and she nodded. “You have _a lot_ of academics in your family, based on what I’m hearing. Your cousin who’s a doctor, your _other_ cousin who’s an art historian, your brother who’s a chemical engineer— what does you sister-in-law do?”

“Biochemistry. She got _her_ PhD two years ago.”

If it were to happen, the thought of Tom meeting her family started to frighten him a bit.

_Tom Hiddleston? Golden-Globe-and-Olivier-award winning actor? Oh, Cambridge University? We don’t care if he graduated with a double first in Classics. The Royal Academy of Dramatic Art? Where’s the science? Where’s his doctorate, Mara?_

“Who _doesn’t_ have a PhD in your family?” Tom asked, chuckling as he tried to shove the nervousness away.

Mara snorted. “ _Me_. I have a bachelor’s.” She paused for a moment. “But, ya know… I _did_ think about pursuing a master’s degree, but I don’t think… I don’t think it’s the right time at the moment. Maybe… when I have my life together. Like, I don’t know… _ten_ years from now, I guess. I’m not sure.” She shrugged.

“I _will_ tell you one thing, if it helps,” Tom offered, patting his knees. “I’m ten years older than you, as you may know. Even now, I’m still searching for answers at every corner of the universe. I’m avoiding any confident and _arrogant_ bursts of _I know the answer to this_ and what not. So, I won’t consider my life to be ‘together’ once I’m absolutely certain that I know everything, and right now… erm, I know I _don’t_.”

She gave him a small smile. Then, “Are you implying that it’ll be even more challenging for me? You’re… _you_ , ya know. Intelligent, well-read, compassionate you. I doubt that I’m even near your calibre.”

Tom narrowed his eyes at her. “I doubt that I’m even near _your_ calibre. When I was your age, I was a bumbling fool, had poor taste in conversation topics on MySpace, and would oftentimes _not_ allow myself to think rationally. You’re conducting yourself well.”

“But I’m not trying to imply _that_ ,” he continued. “I’m just… _saying_ that it can take some time for you to discover how stable your life _really_ is. You can’t base your findings off of one day where you think you feel alright— nor can you base it off of one day where you feel _less than_ stellar. Speaking from personal experience.”

_Yes, of course he’s speaking from personal experience,_ Mara thought. _He’s older than me by a_ _decade_ _. He knows what the fuck he’s talking about._

For a moment, they were both silent. Occasionally making eye contact, but their eyes were wandering elsewhere for the most part. Mara took her phone out of her pocket, checking the time. _13:49_

“Shit—“ A hand flew to her mouth, and Tom snickered. “—sorry. _Damnit_ … I need to practise.”

Tom pursed his lips. “Oh— do you want me… to leave?”

Her eyes widened. “No, no! You don’t have to, really. I’m just going over my _concerto_ for my LSO performance.” Mara stood up to head over to the _other_ couch, opening her violin case.

She continued in a type of Youtube-personality accent, with emphasis on practically every syllable. “You get to watch American violinist _Mara Blanchard_ going through her practise routine before her performance of Jean Sibelius’s Violin Concerto in D Minor on Thursday in the Barbican Centre. There’s a little challenge on Instagram, called the 100 Days of Practise. My colleague made it, but I never got involved with it. So you’re one of the few people to see how _I_ go through a practise session.”

Tom chuckled. “I’m open to whatever I see… or _hear_.”

All of a sudden, Mara had an idea. She put her violin down in the open case. “I wonder if it’s still here…”

Walking over to the built-in shelf next to the television set, Mara crouched down in front of a row of DVD cases. Tom stood up from the couch, smoothing his pants down, and sauntered over to her.

“Do you need help?”

“Um… yes,” Mara reluctantly responded. “There’s a DVD of an older performance of me— I think I labelled it something like _Spring Recital…_ something.”

There was only one DVD with the words _Spring Recital_ written on the side. Tom pulled it out. “This one?”

“Yes! Thank you.” He handed it to her, and she headed over to the DVD player. As she put the disk in, Mara looked over at Tom.

“Can you hand me the clicker, please?”

Now, Tom stared at her blankly.

“The _what?_ ”

She blinked at him.

“The clicker. You know, the thing that has the settings to turn the TV on and off and to change the input.”

Tom quickly made the connection. He picked up the remote control and handed it to her.

“Oh, the remote?”

Mara mentally facepalmed. Her cheeks turned pink. “ _Yeah_ — sorry, the remote, thank you. I call it a clicker. My vernacular _stays_ in Massachusetts— _New England_.”

“ _Tsk_ , _New_ England. You live in _old_ England, now,” Tom quipped, and Mara burst out laughing.

“The audacity you have… _redcoat_ ,” she jokingly jibes, eyeing Tom from head to toe.

Tom mockingly gasped. “How dare you speak to me in that manner, _patriot?_ ” He intentionally equipped an accent similar to Monty Python’s King Arthur.

“That accent isn’t even from the right _time period!_ ” Mara exclaimed, laughing as she got the disk running. Tom burst out laughing, obviously aware of his wrongdoing. “You… _oh my God._ We’re actually children.”

The laughing died down when the footage centred on an unoccupied recital stage.

Mara returned to a more serious tone. “I actually wanted to look at an older recording of me playing _that_ piece,” she informs, pointing on the urtext book on the music stand. “Just making a comparison between my interpretation before and what I plan to do now.”

“How old were you when you learned it?” Tom asked out of curiosity as he backed up to sit next to her violin case on the couch.

“I first learned it when I was 14, like in this _video_ I’m gonna show you. The last time I re-visited this piece was…” Mara trailed off, eyebrows creasing. She shook her head after expressing a pained look on her face. “Um— never mind, forget it. …yeah, anyway, learned it when I was 14. Yeah, 14. About thirteen years ago. Anyway, um, yeah, this video is _really_ cringe-y, though, I’m warning you. It's so bad.”

Tom studied her for a moment, wondering why she abruptly became downcast. He ignored it, continuing on with an amused yet doubtful tone. “Erm, _no_. It can’t _possibly_ be cringe-y.”

Mara gave him a deadpanned look. “Um, _yeah_. I have absolutely _no_ emotion at all— on my face or in the music. It’s a wonder how I was allowed to pursue a bachelor’s in music.” She rolled her eyes.

“ _No_ , I don’t agree,” Tom responded as a matter of fact. “That one song you performed in your international violin competition says otherwise—“ He abruptly stop speaking, seeing Mara’s eyes comically widen from what he said.

“Uh— _uh—_ “ she stuttered, being at an absolute loss for words. “You’ve— you’ve _seen— heard_ that video? The one from the Menuhin Competition?” Mara’s cheeks turned pink. “ _When?”_

Tom cleared his throat, being just as embarrassed. It was actually _really_ tempting for him to lie to her, to say that he might’ve done a little research _after_ she talked about the competition on Skype... even though it happened _at least_ a month before the Skype conversation. Like... a _week_ after he met her.

_That wouldn’t exactly set a good foundation between us, though_ , Tom thought to himself. _If I just lie to her._

“Erm...” Tom began, combing his hand through his hair. “ _When_ I met you… I was sort of, erm… _curious_.” He mentally facepalmed. _That is the worst response you have ever enunciated in your_ _life_ _._

“So… you searched me up?” she guessed, and he reluctantly nodded. “Hm, okay.”

His eyes widened at her response. “You’re not upset? Or, if anything… uncomfortable about it?”

“Well, here’s the thing,” Mara began, sauntering over to sit next to Tom. “The second I signed up for that competition, I was essentially signing a pact to have my name out in the international eye, since I’d never entered anything on that level before. When I _won_ , well… that exposure didn’t go away— it never did. I’d imagine that it was the same for you, the moment you…”

“…the moment I accepted more prominent roles, yeah,” Tom finished for her. “So you don’t mind?” He gave her a worried look.

Mara put a gentle hand on his shoulder, and his cheeks and ears turned pink. “‘Course not. Although, I _do_ know for a fact that it’s relatively, um, ‘safer’ for me to search myself up. I’m basing this off of what Ben told me, about how he searched himself up and… um, found some _questionable_ things.”

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, nervously chuckling. “I’d agree with him there.”

Sensing his embarrassment, Mara pressed the ‘play’ button on the remote control to change the subject. Tom wouldn’t deny how amused and _pitiful_ he got when Mara was agonisingly watching her 14-year-old self play [the piece](https://youtu.be/QH97sSyf8aM?t=14) she was going to play later in the week.

 

* * *

 

“There’s a particularly sweet spot in the Barbican Centre for orchestral performances…” Mara began in a thoughtful tone.

The curly-haired man had stayed for another two hours, with permission from the shorter brunette woman. Within that time, Mara had simultaneously practised and answered Tom’s burning questions about music theory and other music-related topics that he thought of. Now, they were discussing the venue of her performance on Thursday, but Tom felt as if he was starting to overstay his visit, so they were currently communicating at her front door.

“Stalls?” Tom guessed, and Mara shook her head. He gave her a surprised look. “ _Really?_ ”

“Circle, actually,” she corrected, smirking. “If you prioritise visuals _and_ acoustic superiority. Stalls are perfect for visuals _only_ , but the sound will sound much more, um, _edgy_ — and not in a good way… the closer you are to the stage.”

“That’s interesting,” Tom commented thoughtfully. “For plays, it’s usually ideal to be _closer_ to the stage. But I think it depends on the type of production, really.”

Mara shrugged nonchalantly. “People can be very particular about what they’re seeing and hearing. I _will_ admit that I’m one of those people for other orchestral performances— are you the same? For more theatrical stuff, I mean.”

He enthusiastically nodded. “Of course. I _do_ like being immersed in the acting itself, and the setting if it’s presented.”

Then, brief but awkward silence.

Tom was thinking about whether or not he should merely say ‘goodbye’ or wave… _hug_ her… anything. He was staring down at his grey boots.

“Do you want to _go_ to my concert?”

His head shot up. His throat became dry, brain desperately trying to process Mara’s question.

“I mean, um…” Mara nervously elaborated. “I don’t _think_ it’s sold out yet, but my last performance in March got sold out pretty quickly. Um— if you _want_ to, of course, I don’t… um, I don’t wanna force you to go or anything…”

_Go!_ Tom’s conscience urged. _Go to her concert! Hear her_ _actually_ _playing in a venue instead of searching her up on Youtube, you nutter._

…he found himself saying that he’d love to, and after they exchanged ‘goodbyes’ and Mara closed the door, Tom started to hyperventilate on the way to his car.

_Erm,_ Tom pointedly thought to himself. _You don’t even_ _listen_ _to classical music._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Shakespeare, 2.2.11  
> ** Shakespeare, 1.3.78


	11. May, 2018: 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nervousness about a performance with the London Symphony Orchestra.  
> …for both people involved.  
> Running into an old “acquaintance”.  
> Reflection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, this chapter took a while to be published. As of typing, for the entire time I’ve been gone, I’ve been bombarded with more standardised testing and my opera production (yes).  
>   
> I did take my little break as well (something I planned every ten chapters, per my [A/N on Tumblr](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/184249209248/a-little-update)), but this time I really wanted to be more conscientious of what I was writing to make it easier for both you, the reader, and me, the person who has had to embarrassingly fix their inconsistencies after they’ve uploaded previous chapters (knowing me, I'll probably still have to do btw).  
>   
> Just a _warning_ (now added in the tags), there are some allusions to past emotional abuse. I understand that the subject itself and other related ones can affect/have affected others, so I’m just being mindful of that for you all.  
>   
> As always, thank you for your kudos/comments/subscriptions.
> 
> Remember, there are links to give visual/auditory references.

_May 2018_

 

> _Google:_ _“What do you wear to an orchestra performance?”_
> 
> _San Francisco Symphony Orchestra:_ _Contrary to what many people think, formal attire—such as tuxedos and evening gowns—is not required at_ ** _Symphony concerts_** _. In fact, most people only_   ** _wear_ ** _formal clothing to our Opening Gala. At our other_ ** _concerts_** _, most concertgoers_ ** _wear_ ** _business or cocktail attire._
> 
> _—-_
> 
> _Quora:_ _“What should I wear to an orchestra?”_
> 
> _User #170:_ _Audience members are under much less strict dress codes. Some want to dress up to show their respect for the situation and the artistry of the performers, though I am sure some of them are just showing off for their snooty friends. Others are more casual, preferring to express their respect through applause (and of course buying a ticket!) I would say at a minimum, try to look a little better than you would lounging in your back yard…_

It would be an understatement to say that Tom was nervous.

His mind would jumble itself up every time he thought about it, locking itself up in response to the growing anxiety he developed.

He didn’t want to embarrass himself. He’d never gone to an _orchestra performance_ in his life, but here Tom was, sitting at his kitchen counter at the middle of the night incessantly searching up information and discussions about orchestra etiquette and audience attire.

If anything, he was imagining Mara probably chuckling at his actions, brushing them off and reassuring that it’s fine and it _wouldn’t matter as much once you’re there_.

Contrastingly, he _also_ imagined Mara showing signs of passive-aggression if he shows up with… say, a _wrinkled_ shirt, or if he accidentally coughs while the orchestra— _she_ is playing. He didn’t think that she was the type of person to be confrontational about (rather trivial) actions. However, Tom was acknowledging all possibilities, even if he cringed at some of them.

Tom bought his ticket right when he arrived home after he came over to her house. He had managed to reserve a seat in the dead centre of the Circle, which was an elevated portion in the middle of the venue. If she, a _professional_ classically-trained musician, gives advice about hall acoustics, then Tom was sure as hell that he’d trust her words.

Now, as established, classical music wasn’t really Tom’s cup of tea. If it counts, he sometimes had film music in his ears while acting out rather intense and mobile scenes in theatrical productions.

(Searching up whether film music was _actually_ classical music, Tom felt a bit embarrassed to discover that it _wasn’t_. The composers _did_ borrow elements of it though, so it counted… maybe?)

Hearing classical music out of the blue (or legitimately in films) was something he didn’t mind, but…

_New experience, right?_ Tom thought to himself. _It can’t be_ _that_ _bad…_

He eventually came to the conclusion that attending an orchestra performance was not much different from attending a theatre play, so he decided _not_ to go all out— choosing his navy-blue crew-neck jumper but pairing it with black slacks and a suit jacket from another set. Tom tried on the combination in front of his bathroom mirror (i.e. he just put on the suit jacket, since he was already wearing his ‘uniform’ of the navy blue jumper and similar-looking black bottoms), and was quite satisfied with the outcome.

After hanging the unused clothing items in his closet, Tom stared at himself in the wall mirror right across. His dark circles were improving ever so slightly. He wasn’t particularly in the mood to trim his beard at the moment. Maybe he’d do that on the day of the concert.

Deeply inhaling, Tom calmly shut his eyes. It was silent for a couple of minutes until he continued on with the rest of the day, which didn’t involve much, before he settled for the night.

He finished brushing his teeth and washing his face before changing into his sleepwear, which was a black shirt and grey joggers this time. Taking out his eye contacts, Tom walked back into his bedroom, smiling at the sight of Bobby lightly sleeping on his own bed next to his dresser. He knew that the little spaniel would probably wake up once _he_ went to bed, but he didn’t mind.

In his bed, Tom stared up at the ceiling, his eyes only processing the fact that the ceiling was _white_. The ceiling lamp was blurry, but the only reason why he could see it in the first place was because of the moonlight that shone through his vaguely-opened blinds. 

It didn’t take long for him to fall into deep sleep.

 

* * *

 

He hasn’t been to the Barbican Centre in a while. Tom missed having his feet echo off the walls as he stepped through the grey marble tiling, and glancing up every now and then to admire the colour-changing ceiling lights.  
****

As somewhat expected, a paparazzo had managed to get there as well, keeping distance from Tom as he took photos of him entering the venue. He inwardly rolled his eyes.

_This isn’t even a film premiere or what not, can’t they catch a break?_

Holding his head up high, Tom briskly walked over to the ticket queue. He ignored the few glances at his direction, only staring straight ahead. Sliding his hands in his pockets, Tom tapped his foot on the tile as he waited in line.

“Is that Tom Hiddleston?” he had heard a woman whisper to her friend, but because they were quite far from him, he had no other impetus to greet them.

When he had reached the reception desk, the clerk showed no sign of recognition, merely accepting his reservation and handing him his own copy of a ticket. Thanking the woman, Tom swiftly turned away to head to the Hall.

A flurry of people walked past him, engaged in lively conversation. They most likely came from the Theatre, Tom assumed, as he found out from the website that there was a play being premiered right before the orchestra performance at the Hall. Some individuals were taking lowkey photos of the foyer or of their friends/partners, but they all became a blur to Tom when he headed over to the staircase. When he arrived at the next floor, he found people dressed in business casual attire as he was. At least half of these people were older than him, quietly speaking to one another, while another half was his age or younger and had their eyes glued on the phones. The difference was quite astounding to him. 

Heading over to the double doors, an escort had handed him a programme and opened the door for him. Tom thanked the formally-suited man as he walked inside in [the Hall.](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/184171232993/barbican-hall-of-barbican-centre-the-main)

Like the Theatre, which the curly-haired man has been to _dozens_ of times, the Hall was also a sight for Tom to behold. The wooden accents were heavy, and the chairs followed a medieval colour palette. They complimented one another quite nicely. Some guests were already sitting at their seats, reading through the programme, but most people were either outside as Tom noticed or haven’t arrived yet. Most of the lights illuminated above the stage, which had the conductor’s podium and music stand set up with the black chairs and music stands of the ensemble. A large space was present at stage right, on the side of the conductor’s podium and the concertmaster’s music stand. He immediately knew that _that_ spot was going to be occupied by Mara in thirty minutes, but the sight of everything else on stage seemed a bit… hollow. In thirty minutes, an influx of talented musicians would be situated at their seats, and Tom was simultaneously excited and nervous.

He eventually found his seat, which was in the dead centre of the Circle. The conductor would be in his line of sight directly. Tom decided to spend the remainder of his time looking through the programme. 

> _Sibelius Symphonies_
> 
> _Thursday 17 May 2018_
> 
> _Michael Tilson Thomas “MTT”,_ _conductor_
> 
> _Mara Blanchard,_ _violin_
> 
> _London Symphony Orchestra_

In the section of _Artist Biographies_ , a newer photo of Mara wearing a long black velvet and mesh dress while holding her current violin showed up. Like the one of her with the green dress, a hint of a smile wasn’t evident. To Tom, it didn’t matter if she didn’t smile in her photos— he’s seen her smile before… he’s _made_ her smile before. The information on the page included things he already knew— how she rose to international fame from the Menuhin Competition, how she’s been playing for over twenty years… if anything, reading her biography made Tom only more longing to see her on stage.

 

* * *

 

“ _Ten_ _minutes until starting,_ ” the overhead speaker in the dressing room announced. “ _Ten_ _minutes until starting._ ”

Mara placed her violin and bow on the sofa chair next to the yellow throw pillows. She eyed the tray of sliced veggies and hummus left on the coffee table, along with the tea maker machine. From a distance, she could tell that the flowers on the table next to the dresser were artificial. She was glad that the Hall personnel religiously followed her hospitality rider.

_Performance starts with me, yay, then an intermission, then Sibelius’s Symphony No. 2 and Symphony No. 7. Lots of Sibelius going on. Finnish nationalism. Yeah._

The shorter brunette woman smoothed her dress down as she started to pace around a bit.

_Oh, I just remembered that I invited Tom… I wonder if he showed up._

_…Um, what if he didn’t?_ her conscience challenged.

Mara shook her head.

_I don’t think he’s the type of person to accept and then_ _not_ _show up. He’d be honest— if he_ _really_ _didn’t want to go or couldn’t anyway, he’d admit that._

She took a deep breath, suppressing pangs of denial.

_You know, I hope. I_ _really_ _do. I mean, if he doesn’t, then I think I shouldn’t get hung over it. I don’t know what I expected. It’s just a concert. I’m flying to the Netherlands next month for more concerts like this one. I doubt this kinda stuff is of his liking, anyway._

 

* * *

 

Minutes later, he hadn't noticed the increasing chatter and sounds of shuffling around as more guests started to come in with their programmes. Glancing up from his programme, Tom observed the stage as members of the orchestra walked on with their instruments. Some of the woodwind and string players were tuning out loud, while the brass and percussion players could be seen whispering to one another in their respective sections.

As both the orchestra members and the audience settled down in their seats, the lights started to dim and it started to get quiet. Tom fixed his glasses as he silently watched the stage like everyone else.

Soon enough, Tom’s breath hitched.

The sound of clapping erupted.

From the hidden stage door entered Mara with her hair in waves, wearing a [floor-length baby blue tulle dress](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/183612113733/pre-fall-2018-2-jenny-packham-the-baby-blue).  Her violin and bow were in one hand. She briskly walked through the small aisle between the first and the second violin sections before standing in the open space next to the conductor’s podium.

Facing the audience, Mara quickly glanced around. Tom’s heart started beating faster— he started to wonder if she noticed him sitting _right there_ , but he doubts it. The Hall was fully packed. Her eyes only glossed over; appropriately, she doesn’t make eye contact with any of the audience members.

Taking a bow, the audience continued to clap as Mara gestured to the conductor afterwards, a tall but rather old man with grey hair slicked back. He grinned at her as he stepped onto the podium, and Mara grinned back at him before turning around to shake hands with the concertmaster.

It became quiet again, except for the sound of Mara quietly tuning her violin. When she finished, the conductor gave a nod of approval and faced the orchestra. After a moment, he brought his baton up, sharply gesturing to indicate the start of [the piece](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kDIvOIAJkPk), and continued on in a slow but steady tempo. 

All of a sudden, the sound of her violin sounded throughout the entire hall, the instrument projecting incredibly well from the lowest depths of its range to the highest. At first, Tom was listening to the first theme being played with a sweet tone that increased in brilliance as it ascended in pitch before it dropped to the lowest notes with an almost thunderous tone. He then started to watch how she subtly swayed, eyebrows creasing as she continued to play. Posture straight and face determined, her movements on her upper body were all relaxed yet calculated to give a seamless performance. Tension in the theme started to build as scales that spanned across the violin’s range were being played next with the accompaniment of the timpani drums and the lower-registered instruments. 

Tom’s jaw dropped when she reached her left hand over to play her highest note, and the lower brass instruments abruptly entered. He couldn’t make out her expression _super_ clearly by now, but he saw her crease her eyebrows again as she extended her hand around the instrument.

This immediately transitioned to a flurry of notes being played on one string, her left hand progressively moving up the instrument, before switching to fast _arpeggios_ that ascended to the very top. Soon after, she temporarily stopped playing, and the ensemble started to develop the next theme in a harmonious way with the middle/lower instruments projecting over the group.

When her part came back in, it was a phrase of melodic double stops at a louder volume before quickly quieting down at her upper range. Here, she simultaneously played a descending scale with a rapid alternation of two notes before finishing off the subject and allowing the rest of the orchestra to come back in with a dark timbre. This time, she held the violin by the neck, but her jaw was no longer in contact with the chin rest. She relished in the resounding theme, looking as if she was pondering over something. Her head swayed a bit, looking more content than ever.

On the other hand, Tom’s thought process was going in several different directions. He needed to _listen_ to the piece, he needed to listen to _her_ play, but… he wanted to reflect on her playing.

From the video of her eight years ago, she looked emotionless. Of course, her playing compensated for the lack of facial expressions, but this… _this_ was different. Before, her playing was more emphasising on method, on technical perfection, but now, Tom was hearing an even _greater_ surge of passion and emotion from her playing. Her facial expressions were more eloquent. Each note was played precisely, yes, but there was a rich and nuanced quality in her style that makes her performance more compelling to him, and he was falling in love every second. He was falling in love with her playing style… he was falling in love with _her._

Two months ago, the curly-haired man was content with his situation, becoming more ambitious and compassionate than ever. His mind was solely on garnering success because if anything, he wanted more. He became bored after a couple of months— he wants to experience _other_ ways of becoming an accomplished yet sound man. He didn’t need to depend on something or _someone_ to be happy. He was fine living his life alone.

Now, he was starting to re-open the door for his love-life, which was haphazardly locked in chains and obstructed with barricade tape. He hasn’t opened it in two years, but he regained the desire to go back for the sake of the violinist in his line of sight.

Tom never wanted this inundation of emotion to end. He missed it, actually.

 

* * *

 

Due to the prolonged and exuberant applause right after her performance, Mara decided to treat the audience with an [encore piece](https://youtu.be/_vJsPC5u3lw?t=29). The conductor urged her to do so when they arrived backstage the first time, and she relented.

_[“Well, it’s soloist etiquette, isn’t it?” Mara joked as she started to rehearse through a few measures of Bach’s Gigue from Partita No. 3._

_“You wouldn’t want to disappoint them, dear,” the conductor, Maestro Tilson Thomas, advised, grinning down at her as he watched.]_

Tom thought it was a nice addition to her _concerto_ , which he thought was _absolutely_ incredible (well, at least the parts he immersed himself into, and _not_ during the parts where he focused on Mara in general). After her encore piece and her departure, the lights brightened up again to signal the start of the intermission. When the orchestra players started to leave as well, stagehands rushed on stage to push the chairs and stands forward to close the space once occupied by Mara. People started standing up to head to the lobby to stretch or to the toilet, but Tom decided to stay in his seat. He checked his phone for a bit before people came back to their seats and the lights dimmed once more.

The next two symphonies by the same composer were also quite delightful, he thought. While hearing the two pieces, he imagined himself in different scenarios; at the beginning of the first symphony, Tom imagined himself visiting his mother in Suffolk and walking along the shore by himself as he kicked the rocks and reflected over the view of the North Sea. Contrastingly, the beginning of the second symphony induced a scenario of him standing above a cliff as the skies became more cloudier and grey, with the wind passing through him lightly as he peered down below his feet.

Eventually, the concert ended, and the conductor gave a spoken farewell note to the audience before shaking hands with the concertmaster and departing backstage amidst the roaring applause.

As he folded the programme and placed it inside his suit jacket, he exited the Hall through the double doors and briskly walked down the stairs. There, Tom was surprised to find a queue of people in front. He craned his neck a bit to find the other end, and at a distance, he found a table with black tablecloth and a large sign of tonight’s programme. Sitting at the table was Mara, still in her baby blue tulle dress, happily interacting with the guests as she signed their programmes and occasionally took photos with them.

For a moment, Tom stood there, blankly watching the queue and every once in a while, glancing around the whole lobby. At times, some people looked over at him in recognition, but either didn’t want to speak to him or were anxious to.

All of a sudden, Tom felt someone back up behind him. Tom whipped his head around to find a black-haired man of similar stature. He too was dressed rather semi-formally.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man announced in an _American_ accent. He furrowed his rather full brows.

“No, it’s fine, really,” Tom reassured, putting a hand up. _Hm, he must be a tourist._

The black-haired man’s eyes widened a bit, apparently recognising the actor. Pulling himself together, he curtly nodded before walking away.

Tom was silently grateful that he didn’t get confronted about his ‘fame’ or what not. There was no need to attract attention to himself here.

After watching even _more_ guests enter the queue, Tom decided to prolong his stay at the venue by stepping in line to merely compliment Mara. Since he _accidentally_ deleted her number off his phone (which he was still a bit salty about), there was no way he could gush about how wonderful her performance was _to_ her. He also thought it would be a bit strange to do so the _next_ time he’d see her, which was something he couldn’t even predict the date of.

Time went by quickly in his perspective, and Tom consciously realised that he was now next to the edge of the table. On the other side of the table sat Mara, and standing next to her was an older blonde woman in business-style clothing. She handed a programme to Mara for her to sign for the guest in front of her, and after whispering to Mara she backed up a bit to take a panoramic video of the queue. A few attendants stood nearby, almost as if they were standing guard.

Right in front of him was a young blonde girl holding the programme in her hand along with a CD case. Her mother, a primly dressed woman with a contrastingly soft demeanour, had a hand on her shoulder. The young girl was fidgeting in her spot as her cheeks turned pink, stepped forward, and introduced herself to Mara.

“Hello,” Mara greeted softly. She smiled up at her from her seat. “What’s your name?”

“My name’s Alisa,” the blonde girl mumbled out of embarrassment.

“Alisa?” Mara repeated, reassuring that she heard correctly. Alisa meekly nodded. “You have a pretty name! Did you enjoy the concert?”

Alisa blushed at Mara’s compliment. She nodded in response to her question.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that… oh, what’s that in your hand?”

She handed the programme and the CD case over to Mara on the table. Mara took the programme first. From his spot, Tom couldn’t quite identify what the cover was on the CD case.

“Would you like me to sign this?” Mara asked, glancing at the CD case every now and then. When Alisa nodded, Mara proceeded to do so with permanent marker, and she handed the programme back to her. Sliding the CD case over, Mara’s eyes widened.

_Damn,_ Mara thought. _I haven’t thought about this album in_ _years_ _._

“You have my _very_ first album!” Mara exclaimed. She held it up next to her face. “Do you listen to this often?”

Her mother chuckled. “Alisa listens to it all the time,” she spoke for her daughter. This time, Alisa enthusiastically nodded. “She’s been begging her violin teacher to let her learn that first piece… _Violin Concerto_ by Barber, right?”

“Samuel Barber, yes,” Mara confirmed, before excitedly looking over at her. “You have _wonderful_ taste. How long have you been playing violin, Alisa?”

“Since… er, since I was three,” Alisa answers, holding up three fingers.

Mara gaped at her. “Since you were _three?_ I started playing when I was four, so you have a bit of an advantage. I can’t wait to hear you perform Barber’s Violin Concerto on a big stage one day.”

She gave her a small smile, and Mara returned the favour with an even wider smile. Gingerly taking the album booklet from the case, Mara diligently autographed next to the cover photo of her 19-year-old self. Tom eyes the cover photo as she slides it back in the CD case and slides it over to Alisa.

Alisa and her mother leave, allowing Tom to step forward. As he does so, Mara’s focus is on the table surface, testing out her (now dried) permanent marker on the back of a programme before tossing it in the bin under the table and grabbing a new one next to the stack of programmes. Glancing up, Mara’s eyes widened at the sight of him.

“Tom— um, hi!” she exclaims, enthusiastically waving at him. “I… I didn’t think you’d _actually_ show up, to be honest…” Her cheeks turn pink at this announcement.

Tom raised a brow at this. “You… _didn’t_ think I’d show up? You were the one that invited me, though.”

Mara gave him a sheepish look. She momentarily avoided his stare, biting her lower lip. “Well, um, I had… pessimistic thoughts.”

He _briefly_ got offended by the fact that she assumed that he’d stand her up, but another thought appeared in his mind: what if _that_ had happened to her before?

…his heart started to hurt a bit. Tom deeply inhaled.

Stepping closer to the table and her, he mumbled to her so no one else around them could hear. “If I wouldn’t _want_ to go, or _couldn’t_ , then I would’ve confessed directly— I’m not keeping that a secret from you, that would be _completely_ unnecessary.”

Tom continued. “Besides, I’m not sure why I’d tell you why I _wouldn’t_ want to go… I do like experiencing new things.” He gave her a small smile.

“Oh, is _this_ the first orchestral performance you’ve ever been to?” Mara asked, smirking. When he nodded, she grinned up at him. “I’m honoured to have been involved in quite a feat.” She chuckled.

“Actually, _you_ were the one to instigate that, so I think it’s necessary for me to thank you for that,” Tom admitted, giving her credit. “I ought to go to more orchestra performances because of you.”

At this, Mara suddenly felt warm inside. Not only did the fact that _Tom Hiddleston_ developed an interest in classical music _because_ of her made her feel more accomplished than ever, but the general idea of indirectly introducing a new _realm_ of artistic expression to someone with _her_ method of creativity was one thing that Mara found joy in. Encouraged, even.

Her thought process almost short-circuited at his words. “Um… um, _thank you so much_. Really, um— oh my God.” Mara put a (free) hand to her mouth in awe.

He nervously chuckled. “No, no, it’s nothing. Thank _you_ , though.”

Mara became _absolutely_ flustered. She hoped that it wasn’t obvious.

Tom could _easily_ tell that she was abashed.

“Well, erm…” Tom went on, frantically thinking of another conversation topic. “I just, erm… I just wanted to tell you that you were _phenomenal_. Well, er— the whole ensemble, I mean. Yeah, er, the whole ensemble. You all did incredible. Absolutely incredible. I— I have to admit that, erm, I was _blown away_ by how your playing complimented theirs so well.”

Mara gave him a small smile. “Thank you. And by the way, well, it’s standard for the conductor and _therefore_ the ensemble to follow the artistic decisions of the guest soloist.”

“…and if the conductor _doesn’t_ follow?”

“They’d get fired,” she bluntly replied.

Tom raised a brow at her frankness.

“You’re kidding?”

“No, I’m really not,” Mara responded as a matter-of-fact. “Well, I’ve never seen it happen, but that’s usually the route taken in that event.” She gave him a sheepish look.

He didn’t know how else to respond to that, other than think about how _barbaric_ that sounds. To be fair, Tom really didn’t know how the orchestral world functioned on a day-to-day basis. After all, he was just an actor. In the acting world, he’s heard of individuals getting fired, but usually _not_ for artistic decisions. Usually is the key word.

_Maybe you could ask?_ His conscience suggested.

_Oh, that’s right. I_ _can_ _ask._

_Wait, no. That’s a bit redundant. She’d probably tell you that you could just search it up on Google._

_Mara isn’t like that. She’d_ _love_ _to answer that question— well, she’d_ _know_ _how to answer that, anyway._

_Talk about something else. Ask her something. Anything!_

“Would you like to come over to my house later?”

At this, he _immediately_ shut up, and Mara blinked at him.

_What?_ Tom sternly thought to himself. _What? What. What. You bloody idiot._ _What the hell._ _What did you just say to her? What did you just_ _ask_ _her? When I suggested that you’d ask her something, you don’t ask something like_ _that_ _!_

Tom shoved his hands in his pockets, attempting to regain his composure. As seconds passed by, and Mara was _still_ rapidly blinking at him, he didn’t want to do anything else but run back to his car in the parking garage and scream his lungs out.

In the corner of his eye, he found the older blonde woman in her business attire narrowing her eyes at him. Tom avoided her stare.

From a distance, Naomi was watching the scene unfold in front of her— Mara ceasing all actions as she merely stared up at (a flustered) Tom. She peered at the other guests in line, who were ignoring the situation with her and instead partaking in their own conversations. Glancing back at Mara with the man, she heavily sighed and started speaking to the nearest attendant about something unrelated.

“You want… _me_ to come to your house?” Mara whispered after a _long_ moment. She didn’t need anyone else eavesdropping on them. “I mean… I wouldn’t, um, _mind_. I’d love to afterwards, actually.”

Now, it was Tom that rapidly blinked down at her. After processing her words, he responded. “I know that sounded _awfully_ abrupt, and I’m _really_ sorry—“

“—that _was_ a little abrupt, yeah,” she interjected sheepishly.

He scratched the back of his neck.

_You’re a 37-year-old man, and you’re acting like… like some_ _schoolboy_ _who can’t properly speak to a girl. A girl who’s_ _younger_ _than you, mind you._

“You’d… _love_ to, though?” he repeated rather confusedly.

Mara shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m not doing anything later. Besides, what could go wrong with hanging out with my _favourite British actor?_ ” She smirked at him.

Tom nervously chuckled. “ _Right_ , erm…”

If anything, Tom became even _more_ embarrassed. And shocked, too.

_This woman actually said yes. Holy hell._

Quickly glancing at the _longer_ length of the queue, Mara leaned in towards Tom as she picked up her phone.

“I’d love to speak to you more, but there’s _loads_ of people after you.”

Tom side-eyed the lengthy queue and raised his eyebrows.

“No, no, I _completely_ understand.”

“…yeah.” Mara opened up her Notes app. “If you tell me your address, I’ll drop by. I’ve _really_ gotta get this queue going, though. I wanna make sure I speak with everyone.”

_She’s a really thoughtful person— I can’t get in the way of that._

“Of course, of course.” Tom whispered to her his address. He _also_ ignored the stares of the closest people of the queue.

After she finished typing, Mara widely grinned at him. “Thank you _so_ much for understanding, Tom. I was gonna get carried away for a second.”

“It’s no problem,” Tom responded, putting a hand to his heart and backing away. He waved ‘goodbye’ at her, which she did the same in response.

As he briskly walked away from the line and closer to the entrance/exit doors of the lobby, Tom took one last glance at the area that Mara was sitting. This time, the man that bumped into him earlier was now speaking to her, and he didn’t think anything else of it as he left the Barbican Centre.

Back to where Mara was, she was pre-occupied with re-aligning the stack of programs when she was approached by the next person in line. Noticing their presence (but not seeing who it was), Mara began to speak as she re-organised everything.

“ _Hi_ , sorry you had to wait for a bit—“

“—no, no, it’s fine actually.”

Mara froze for a good minute. She recognised _his_ voice so well.

…with a pang of _dread_ , she slowly glanced up at the _very last_ person she had ever expected to show up to one of her performances. The _very last_ person she had ever expected to have the _audacity_ to show up in her _presence_. The _very last_ person she had ever expected to be in the same _fucking_ country as her—

“[Darren](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/184659465908/darren-murray-nationality-american-date-of-birth),” Mara announced breathlessly. Her eyes were wide… on the brink of petrification. She tried _so_ well to hide her creeping fear.

A tall man with jet black hair and full eyebrows stared down at her. He wasn’t wearing anything fancy (but she knew that his outfit still costed more than _her_ dress)— a black suit jacket and slacks over a white button-up. 

“Mara, hi,” he greeted with a neutral tone. “I haven’t seen you in a _long_ time. How are you?”

Her jaw clenched. “I _was_ fine.” At the moment, her mind was going haywire.

_What the fuck is he doing here? What the fuck. What the fuck._ _What in the ever-loving fuck._ _I see Tom first, someone I_ _do_ _like, and now I see… him. Darren. Someone I_ _don’t_ _like. Are you fucking kidding me? What’s he doing here? What’s he doing here I just want to fucking_ _know_ _—_

Darren _tsked_. “Because I’m here, is that why?” When she merely responded with a hard look, he continued. “I’m hurt.”

“An astute observation,” she commented, slightly narrowing her eyes at him.

Off to the side where Naomi was, she was drinking water out of her insulated bottle when she noticed Darren _of all people_ speaking with Mara at the table, and she choked on her water. An attendant immediately rushed over to her, to which the older blonde woman assured her fineness. Her eyes widened, and suddenly she had the urge to approach them.

…instead, she merely watched the scene unfold. She _knew_ him though, but it was only because of Mara’s conversations about him when she was a bit younger. And a bit more naïve.

“Can I just ask… _what_ are you doing here?” Mara asked, raising a brow at him. Her tone was cautious… wary of any _potential_ actions. “I don’t remember announcing anywhere on my social media that I was gonna be performing here in London… _again_.” She avoided his almost _longing_ stare.

Darren blinked at her. “Well… to be honest, I bought a ticket to this concert with the intention of seeing Janine Jansen performing instead of _you_. Is she out?”

“Indisposed,” she corrected, straightening her posture. Darren nodded.

He continued. “I see. Besides, Samuel, Lindsey, and I are all just visiting,” Darren informed. “Well… um, I’m _also_ here to attend a Sotheby’s auction. Selling some modern and impressionist art— $2 million USD for all of them combined.”

“Not much different from your time from New York City— seems a bit pointless to come to _London_ for that,” Mara retorted, giving him a deadpanned expression. 

Darren sighed heavily before tittering.

“You haven’t changed, babe. You _really_ haven’t.”

Mara subtly rolled her eyes. “You’re holding up the line, I would like to see other people who _actually_ came here to _not_ torment me,” she quietly hissed.

Darren put his hands up in defence. “Me tormenting? _You?_ Besides, what do you mean by _me_ holding up the line? You spoke with the last guest for a while.” 

Mara gave him a stern look, attempting to not get any angrier for the sake of other people in line or the cameras. 

“Alright, alright.” He looked down at the programme and slowly slid it over to her. “Anyway, can you sign this for me, though?” he asked quietly.

“Are you going to forge my signature on anything?”

“No.” Darren pinched the bridge of his nose as Mara reluctantly nodded, hastily scribbling her signature on the programme. “What _has_ changed is your musicality. You pulled off the technical and interpretational challenges of Sibelius’s Violin Concerto better than I remember. You followed my advice— I’m flattered.”

She roughly handed the programme back to Darren. “To not suck at the violin? I’ve heard that _plenty_ of times, and it sure as hell wasn’t from my teacher from Curtis.”

When Mara realised that the next person in line, an older Englishman, was now starting to watch the interaction between her and Darren, her features softened. She continued with a _painfully_ sweeter tone. 

“I haven’t genuinely performed this piece since I was 14. When I was 21, I _tried_ to revisit it, but I was… _discouraged_.” Finishing, she gave Darren another stoic look, and he returned the favour with a similar expression.

“Discouraged,” he repeated slowly.

“Discouraged, _yeah_.”

“How so?”

“I _loved_ hearing the words ‘ _you’re a sad excuse of a violin player_ ’ and ‘ _you shouldn’t be playing Sibelius on a violin as poorly built as yours_ ’ as I drank my morning coffee. Seems to brighten the day up a bit, right?” Mara responded sarcastically.

“That Storioni violin was no good though,” Darren responded as a matter-of-fact.

Mara merely blinked up at him. _Was that_ _literally_ _all he got from what I said?_

Deeply sighing, she continued. “No good? I _won_ that instrument from the Menuhin Competition. It served its purpose well for six years, until…”

Her expression became pained. She _really_ didn’t want to think about it at the moment.

“Until you got your _Stradivarius_ ,” the black-haired man finished with a gleeful tone. “The Samazeuilh, 1735?”

“…right, you also work with the Nippon Music Foundation,” Mara remembered, biting her lower lip. She imagined him looking through its archives. “Yeah.”

“A terrific instrument. I’m glad you actually _decided_ on something so worthwhile. Such a shame that it had to be played in a hall with inadequate acoustics. The Royal Albert Hall, which is only about twenty minutes away, makes any violin sound _much_ more amazing instead.”

“Send a complaint to the London Symphony Orchestra, then. ‘ _Just move residencies_ ’.”

He sighed again. “You’re still the charming girl I once knew,” Darren replied sarcastically. “How’s living here in London? You know… instead of living in the States. A breath of fresh air?”

“I’m no longer experiencing metaphorical lung cancer.”

He gave her a small smile. “Cute. London is an exceptional city— you’re surrounded by literal art. I can see why you relocated.” Glancing at his Rolex watch, Darren sighed. “Well, um… I’ve got to head out. I need to get some sleep before the Sotheby’s auction tomorrow— I’m sure you remember how I am when I’m running on no sleep.”

“Vividly.”

Darren patted the table. “Good luck,” he whispered to her before saying ‘goodbye’. Mara didn’t say it back this time, but she watched him leave.

…she didn’t know what he meant by ‘good luck’. It probably had some underlying tones of something _bad_ , Mara figured.

 

* * *

 

Finishing off the veggies and hummus per her request on the hospitality rider, Mara quickly started to gather her belongings. She slid on her peacoat since it was a bit chilly outside, and grabbed the two copies of the programme along with her urtext book and agenda journal. On the vanity, Mara grabbed her reasonably-sized bag of makeup and placed it neatly inside her music bag. She picked up her violin case and put the backpack straps on.

When she opened the dresser to take the empty garment bag for her dress, Mara glanced around the dressing room once more. The complimentary music stand was off to the corner, and she made sure to tidy up the throw pillows on the sofa chairs. She remembered to autograph the dressing room’s guestbook, which was displayed in a glass case next to the door. Feeling content with the clean state of the room, she exited and locked the door behind her.

As she walked through the hall and eventually checked out at the security desk, Mara headed outside to the parking garage. Finding her car, she placed her belongings in the trunk and locked her violin in the backseat. As soon as she started the car, her mind flooded with unnecessary thoughts.

_I haven’t seen Darren in two years. Why does he decide to show up now?_

_He wanted to see Janine Jansen perform— I had to replace her. She was always his favourite violinist._

_…yeah, but if he found out that I would fill in for her, wouldn’t he had just refunded his ticket, like any_ _normal_ _ex-boyfriend?_

Mara pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling as if her body was being shaken as tears started to swell up in her eyes. She forced herself _not_ to have those tears drop.

_Why? Why the hell is he here? Why does he have to be here now?_

Hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, Mara rested her forehead on the topmost part of it. She felt herself starting to sniffle.

_I promised myself that I’d never see him again. That’s literally why I’m_ _here_ _. But I guess this is just me being a fucking idiot. He’s a travelling musician and art aficionado, there’s no doubt that he would probably have a performance here at some point._

_…Darren is also_ _unbelievably_ _rich. He probably just bought the plane ticket to get here on a whim. With Samuel and Lindsey, of all people. I know they’re all siblings, but why are they_ _constantly_ _travelling with one another? No offence, but I’d go fucking nuts if I had to travel around the world with Ken for nearly an entire year._

A tear started to drop.

_You’re so fucking stupid. You’re acting as if…_ _nothing_ _happened. As if he didn’t do anything to you. He made you feel worthless. He told you that you were. You were an idiotic 19-year-old who was running away from her mommy issues and thought you found freedom with a 26-year-old man who only praised you for your looks and not your worth. Completely unbelievable._

Mara couldn’t stop herself from bursting into tears in her car. She thought she looked like a bloody lunatic, anyway.

 

* * *

 

He lit another candle he made in the living room and organised all of the books and magazines on the coffee table. Fixing up his first floor a bit, Tom was meticulously making sure that he would give a good first impression to her when she would come to his house.

Hearing a feeble knocking, he rushed into the foyer.

Tom slowly opened the front door, expecting to see a relatively calm Mara in her performance attire and wearing her violin case as a backpack. He was excited to greet her, invite her in, partake in small talk, offer some tea to her…

…his heart sunk at the actual sight.

_What? No, no, no…_

Instead, she was standing at his front door, _sobbing_ as she attempted to pat her tears away with a tissue. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops.  
> For your entertainment, the _rest_ of the concert set:  
> [Sibelius's Symphony No. 2 in D Major](https://youtu.be/YXGxOa682Uc)  
> [Sibelius's Symphony No. 7 in C Major](https://youtu.be/M6qN-B597W8)


	12. May, 2018: 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For this day, Tom’s career changes from actor to (slightly unprofessional) private therapist.  
> Drinking and spilling tea (if you get the gist).  
> Comfort… at the expense of potentially losing a love interest.  
>  _Extra:_ Impromptu house tour (really, just Tom's wall of books).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the 4th instalment of May of 2018. I'm still doing some editing here and there for previous chapters, _and_ making sure that the current chapter is decent...  
> Thank you all for your kudos/comments/subscriptions. :)

_May 2018_

 

The drive didn’t take an outrageous amount of time.

…since Mara was _crying_ for the entire trip, it all felt like a blur to her as she diligently followed her GPS’s directions.

She vaguely recognised the Jaguar F-Type that was situated in front of Tom’s house, as she had seen the same car parked on her street when he was over at the Cumberbatches’ home. At the sight of this, Mara realises that she hasn’t thought about Benedict or Sophie in a while. Since her argument with Sophie, the shorter brunette woman _knew_ that Sophie was doing anything she could to avoid her. As for Benedict, well… she thought it was only easier to avoid _him_ too, despite not really harbouring any emotions of hatred towards him. Only towards his wife, though, who still got on her nerves.

Parking right behind Tom’s car, Mara now raised a brow at his choice of vehicle. For a few seconds was she distracted by it and temporarily stopped crying.

 _I didn’t see him as the type to own a_ _sports car_ _. Wicked cool, though._

Mara sniffled, reverting back to her original state.

Staring at herself through her rearview mirror, she felt the need to gag. Her mascara started to smudge a bit, but she couldn’t stop herself from weeping again.

 _Suck it up, you stupid bitch_ , Mara angrily thought to herself. _Look— see? You’re at Tom’s house now, you shouldn’t be_ _crying_ _. You don’t want him to see you like this, right?_

Mara stepped out of her car and wrapped the peacoat around her tighter. She proceeded to lock her car when she noticed her white violin case still locked in the back seat. Glancing at the steps to Tom’s front door, she rushed back to unlock her car and wear her case as a backpack. All for precautionary measures.

In front of his house was a tall tree with a hint of reddish leaves. The wind was a little more active on this day, so all of the trees on his street lacked an abundance of leaves, anyway. Trimmed hedges were conveniently planted in front as well, towering over the shorter brick wall.

Walking up to his front door, Mara pulled out a folded tissue from her coat pocket and started to pat her cheeks dry. However, as soon as she lightly knocked, _more_ tears started to drop.

She couldn’t stop herself.

 

* * *

 

Well, what Tom _did_ get right was the fact that Mara was wearing her violin case as a backpack.

“I did promise you that I’ll drop by,” she croaked. Tears continued to fall down of her cheeks as her efforts to pat them away became moot.

Tom stared at her, absolutely flabbergasted. He was standing in his foyer, right hand tightly gripping the side of the door as he looked down at her with a perplexed expression. The sound of sniffling could be heard alongside the light ruffles as she smoothed down the skirt of her dress.

 _She’s… she’s in tears. She’s in bloody_ _tears_ _. Oh my God. What happened to her?_

“Er— er… _Mara_ , erm…” Tom began, seemingly at a loss for words. When he _did_ figure out what to say next, he continued in a nervous tone. “Oh my God, _what happened?_ Is everything alright?”

Mara bit her lower lip, avoiding his worried look. “I— um…”

Before she could even answer properly, Tom gestured for her to come in. “I’m sorry,” he frantically apologised. “I shouldn’t— _you_ shouldn’t— just _please_ come inside. _Please_. I don’t want you to be speaking to me out in the cold.” He ushered her inside before shutting the front door behind him.

The sound of her heels echoed a bit on his mahogany hardwood floor, along with the _light_ shuffling of the hem of her dress. Eyes stinging due to the painful mixture of tears and mascara, Mara tried her best to absorb the sight of Tom’s house.

His walls were white like hers, but the decorations were minimal except for the canvas painting of a forest that hung above the fireplace on the left. His foyer was combined with his formal dining area, which had an ebony-coloured table with matching chairs. To the left of the front door was an unused coatrack. A medium-sized potted fiddle leaf fig tree sat next to the beige couches that were in front of the fireplace. A shoe rack with _at least_ a dozen dress shoes of varying neutral shades were placed on the right of the front door, which was opposite of his staircase. He _did_ have one pair of trainers and one pair of grey boots, but he was wearing his black dress shoes today.

Tom faced her, bringing a hand out to lightly grip her shoulder. “Is everything alright?” he repeated. “Do you mind enlightening me?”

Mara cleared her throat. “Yes, yes, I can enlighten you. I’m fine, by the way.” She avoided locking eyes with him.

“Erm, you’re _crying_ ,” Tom blatantly told her, pointing out the obvious. “I really don’t think that constitutes as _fine_.”

When she (instinctively) gave him a deadpanned look, he returned the favour with a stoic look. Under normal circumstances, perhaps he'd feel a bit embarrassed by what he said and how she _reacted_ , but he wasn’t experiencing any of that. Instead, Tom felt rather piqued that she tried to brush off her dilemma.

This only made her break down further.

“No, no, you’re right. I can’t lie to you. I guess I’m really not,” she tells him quietly, shaking her head.

Tom could hear her voice progressively faltering. Any moment sooner or later and she’d never have the strength or the _audacity_ to speak up again in front of him. If at all.

…he was only speculating based off of personal experience. Maybe he’ll mention that at a more appropriate time later.

“Would you like to sit in the living room?” he asks gently, features softening. He doesn’t want to retain any hints of vexation on his face or body language. After all, Tom’s current goal was to address the issue of the crying woman in front of him. In no way did he want her to think that _he_ was irritated with her now, or blamed her for whatever she found fault with.

Mara only nods, and that’s enough for Tom to have his hand hover over the small of her back (well, of her case) as he leads her to the next room. He walks alongside her slowly, acknowledging the fact that she was still wearing her heels and was also in too vulnerable of a state to simply _sprint_ into the other room and leave Tom at the front of his house.

“Would you like some tea? I was planning to make a cuppa for myself, anyway.”

She gives him a questioning look. “Aren’t you… um, _not_ supposed to drink tea at night? I mean, there’s… _caffeine_ and, um, stuff.”

“Tea time is arbitrary in my house,” he asserts almost immediately. “But I also don’t get affected by caffeine easily.”

Tom sees a hint of a smile appear on Mara’s face as she nods again but in response to his question. He’s glad that even for a _split second_ , she was able to be distracted from her sadness.

They eventually reached the living room through the archway. What stood out to her the most was that he did not have a television here, but a large white shelf unit in place. A myriad of gleaming awards were displayed, along with framed photos of himself with various other people at various stages of his life. The only one Mara could make out from a distance was a selfie taken by Samuel L. Jackson, apparently, with a clean-shaved and short-haired Tom and Brie Larson on his right. They were all smiling.

As Mara walked over to sit on the sectional sofa, she stepped on what seemed to be a Mjölnir-shaped dog toy that squeaked. Mara smirked, having forgotten that Tom owned a dog, but the spaniel was nowhere to be found on the first floor.

She took off her case, sliding it over to the other edge of the sofa. Her peacoat would come off as well, and Mara simply folded and placed it next to her.

Tom’s suit jacket was thrown unceremoniously on her edge of the sofa, and Mara was busy staring at its buttons when the owner of it spoke up.

“How do you want your tea?”

Mara whipped her head over to Tom, whose head peeked out from the full-lite door that led to the kitchen. She hadn’t noticed him go into that other room; she had been too preoccupied with the setting of his living room.

“Earl Grey, if you have it,” she said softly.

He grinned at her. “You’re just in luck. I restocked my tea cupboard just yesterday.”

Mock surprise appeared on Mara’s face. “Oh my God, it’s like you _knew_ I was gonna come over, that’s why,” she dryly told Tom, still being rather quiet. The tears on her cheeks were starting to dry up a bit.

“Oh, of course,” he jokingly agreed, before laughing. “Anyway, do you have it with milk?”

“Yeah.”

Tom beamed. “I think we’ll get along just fine. Do you like sugar?”

“Um, I’m not exactly a fan of it.”

“Soulmates,” was all that Tom cheeringly declared before disappearing to heat the kettle. Mara blushed, turning away to patiently wait for Tom as he prepared tea for both of them.

To pass the time, she decided to approach the shelf unit that was situated far across from her. Nearly ramming herself into his coffee table along the way, Mara eyed the little potted succulent that sat in between the philosophy books and wellness magazines. This only took about a few seconds before she _actually_ stood in front of Tom’s shining awards and framed photos.

Eventually, she could feel her feet reaching its limit in her heels as she read every engraved label of each award and studied every photo. Finally peeling her eyes away from a photo of Tom with two blonde women who vaguely resembled him, Mara slid off her heels and quietly sighed in relief. Her dress now collected a bit on the floor, since she had it tailored to the height of her with the heels on.

At some point, Tom had slowly walked into the living room holding a serving tray with teacups and other necessities. He glanced over at Mara, who was holding her heels as she had her back to him, observing the contents of his shelf unit. He smiled to himself.

“The tea’s ready,” he announced to her as he set the serving tray down on the coffee table. Seeing his suit jacket, which was splayed across the edge of the sofa, Tom hastily grabbed it and neatly folded it. He felt his face heat up a bit, afraid of looking like some disorganised nutter in front of her.

Mara turned around to face him, giving him a small smile. When she walked over to the sofa, Tom handed her a teacup with a saucer before sitting down next to her. Her heels sat next to the leg of the coffee table.

“Thank you,” she meekly said to him, before sipping the warm beverage.

She almost felt like crying again. The tea was _exceptionally_ better than her own— it was as if Tom had sourced the tea and bergamot itself and put edible _gold_ and other sorts of top-secret, one-of-a-kind organic additives that he’d die for before revealing it to the public. It was _that_ good, and it smelled heavenly.

To be fair, her country was pretty much fuelled by incessant coffee drinkers, justifying her subpar tea-making skills. She couldn’t remember the last time tea parties went well in Massachusetts, anyway.

All he did was grin and nod at her in response to her thanks, but she accepted as any other ‘you’re welcome’.

“This tea is _amazing_ ,” Mara complimented after a moment.

Tom’s cheeks turned pink. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure if it would meet your standards.”

“I only have Earl Grey with milk, though. You like yours the same way, right?”

“Well, yes…”

“Then it meets my standards,” she concluded. “Which are _pretty_ normal, so you’re in luck.”

He tittered before sipping his own teacup, relishing in its familiar taste. For a few minutes, Tom and Mara were sitting on the sofa quietly, sipping their tea. They could hear the wind blowing ever so slightly outside, which was all the sound that could be heard besides their quiet sipping and breathing.

“So,” Mara announced after the momentary period of silence. She set her teacup and saucer on the coffee table. “You wanted me to enlighten you, huh?”

The downcast expression returned to her face, and Tom’s breath hitched. He stiffly nodded.

Resting her hands on her lap, Mara continued. “Um, what… what would you like to know?”

“Well, my first question,” Tom began, similarly setting his own teacup and saucer down next to her’s, “is _why_ you were crying— tell me anything you feel comfortable sharing, I’m not forcing you to reveal anything if you find it bothersome.”

She cleared her throat. It was at this moment that Mara began to doubt herself, which didn’t go unnoticed by Tom.

 _Do you_ _want_ _to tell Tom about Darren? Do you_ _want_ _to share details about your previous relationship with a guy who you’re…_ _lowkey_ _interested in?_

 _…yes,_ _lowkey_ _. I fucking swear. No, no, no, don’t you fucking deny it—_

 _Get back to the main topic! Do you honestly think he’d care? Darren was your ex-boyfriend, he was a manipulative and emotionally abusive whack-job. I doubt Tom would wanna lend ears to someone like_ _that_ _._

As much as it hurt her, she answered him truthfully.

“You know, after you left the line at the Barbican Centre, there was— um… there was this… _guy_ that I had, um, a _colourful_ history with, that walked over after you…”

So far, he made no face nor actively reacted.

“He was, um… he was my ex-boyfriend.” Mara took a deep breath, before going off on a tangent. “Look, okay, his name was Darren, he was this guy I met at a violin showcase thingy back in 2010— actually, he and his family _ran_ the whole event— anyway, we dated for six years… I was 19, and he was 26, so he was older than me— when I was 19, I thought he was the _one_ and I completely ignored how he treated me until my solo career started to flourish and we constantly got into arguments but ‘made up’ and it just became this endless cycle of attention-seeking and manipulation and false hopes and…”

She took another deep breath, ignoring the pounding of her heart against her chest.

“…I’m _really_ stupid. _Really_ — it took me until I was _twenty-fucking-five_ to realise that whatever I experienced with him was _not_ part of a healthy relationship.”

Tears started to form in her eyes.

_You will not break down. You will continue talking, no matter if you’re fucking sobbing. Look strong in front of him._

“But… I thought it was fine. I moved to New York after the competition to stay near him, but I realised too late that it wasn’t _really_ simple persuasion on his behalf. I started pursuing different opportunities besides guest soloing— I had the ability to debut pieces by newer and unknown conductors, helping them out, widening an experienced audience’s horizon, even performing recitals and quartets before large groups, but what was I granted? I was told that I’d never amount to that because I was too young, I was too inexperienced, I didn’t know what I was doing, apparently. I was worthless without him, apparently, my career would suffer, _I_ would suffer without his ‘help’, or whatever garbage he thought was helpful.”

_Fuck it— abort, abort! Don’t look strong, then. Cry about your ex-boyfriend in front of a man you like right now for all I, your conscience, care!_

“He made me believe that I would never be successful if I left. He made me believe that _he_ would never be successful if I left, talking about how I’d _ruin_ him and destroy his chances of being the happiest man alive if I was no longer his partner. He’d tell me that he’d tell just about everyone we knew that I was going to leave him as a mess, indirectly telling them to blame me. It honestly just sucked on both ends.”

By this time, the tears were dripping down her cheeks, but Mara forced herself to not turn into an ugly, sobbing mess. She continued to let her tears drop as she locked eyes with Tom, who hadn’t realised that he’d been holding his breath in the entire time.

“I still looked for homes to relocate to _outside_ of the country while I was dating him. I almost moved to Canada, you know?” she lightly added, gingerly wiping her tears with her finger. “Québec was my next choice if I had no place in London— just going back to my French roots a bit, I guess… I don't know.”

Tom couldn’t see how she’d _want_ to find light in this matter. If anything, she was probably doing this as a defence mechanism to hide how hurt she was. He’d do the same if he was in her position, as much as he’d hate to admit that.

“Mara…” he started, creasing his brows. “I couldn’t _possibly_ know that— I’m _so_ sorry, oh my God.” His voice broke near the end.

She laughed bitterly amidst her crying, not realising that she was going a bit too far. “No one could’ve. He only considered me to be an asset of his cosmopolitan life. In my six years of dating him, I never once experienced anything remotely similar to empathy, but no one needed to know that.”

“Mara,” Tom repeated, more sternly this time. This time, he couldn’t stop himself from getting irritated at how she acted, as if the problem suddenly dissipated. He scooted a bit closer to her on the sofa. “You can’t— you _can’t_ just brush this off and expect to forget about it. You _really_ can’t.”

“It’s so _easy_ to, though,” Mara drawled, practically ignoring the tears dripping down her face. “I love just forgetting those last years and pretending that London was always my home, where I’m single and can _finally_ focus on my career for once in my own _fucking_ life.”

Tom froze. He had to process her last few words, interpreting them the best he could.

_Pretending that London was always her home, where she’s single and can finally focus on her career._

_Pretending that London was always her home…_

_…where she’s single…_

_…and can finally focus on her career…_

_You bloody idiot— yes, I’m talking to_ _you_ _, not_ _her_ _— you’ve just ignored all of this, haven’t you? For the past few weeks you’ve been so preoccupied with hoping that there was just even the_ _tiniest_ _chance where you two could be together, and now she’s here crying about her ex-boyfriend and indirectly telling you that she’s here in London to_ _remain_ _single because of Darren and her career._

_Don’t be so insensitive— the woman is recovering from all of this, and you’re here almost wondering when you could get her into your bed. You’re loathsome. Absolutely—_

“Tom?”

He was snapped out of his thoughts, glancing over at Mara whose brows were creased. She hadn’t bothered to wipe her tears, and it’s not like she cared at this point. Tom hadn’t noticed that she scooted closer to him too, their knees practically bumping against each other.

“Are you alright?” she asked with a concerned tone. Ironically, she seemed worried at his sudden halt, despite her ranting not too long ago and the tears _still_ dripping down her face.

Tom brushed it off. “Oh— yeah, I’m fine,” he responded hastily.

He continued with the subject after gathering his thoughts for a bit. “Erm… so I’m assuming you felt… _restricted_ while you were with him, yes?”

Even while asking this question, Tom’s mind was swimming in a sea of guilt and heartache. Guilt as he basically felt like _shit_ for ignoring the signs of toxic-relationship recovery from Mara, if she had shown any, but heartache as she had pretty much expressed her lack of need for a relationship. Really, he was attempting to show some sign of being neutral in this situation, not apathetic or desperate.

Besides that, Mara felt a lump in her throat, feeling more tears coming again. She could only nod.

“So he never let you focus on your career?”

“Hardly,” Mara replied, faltering a bit. “I mean, I was already doing touring and what not, but he insisted on going with me… _everywhere._ ”

Tom raised a brow. “Everywhere?”

She rolled her eyes, but because of the subject matter. “I really had no time for self-reflection, _practising_ , et cetera— um, it was always about _him_ , _him_ , _go out to eat with me at this super fancy and expensive restaurant_ , _let’s go to the Salvatore Ferragamo store_ , _take pictures of me with this forty-five million USD viola_ — I mean _honestly…_ ”

He almost felt disgusted. _That man sounds_ _terrible_ _. Based on what she’s saying, he has to be the most controlling person alive._

Mara continued on, _finally_ deciding to pat her tears with the back of her hand. “It’s interesting, actually, even though what I’m saying _now_ sounds totally contradictory. If you were to look on my or _his_ Instagram page between 2010 to 2016, you would think that we were the happiest people— _couple_ alive. I mean, all of our followers thought that too, so a good portion was fooled with all the colourful and fun and _exciting_ photos. They didn’t know what was happening behind that camera, though.”

Tom took a deep breath. _A testament of social media’s tendency to become a bane of our existence._

Now, he was feeling even worse for her. What hurt Tom the most was the fact that she was barely experiencing _adulthood_ when she got herself stuck in something she could hardly recover from, perhaps _decades_ from then. He started to wonder if she had trust issues, which he assumed that they’d blossomed after her time with Darren. Strangely enough (and not to seem like he was giving himself false hope), Tom felt as if she somewhat trusted _him_ , besides the _apprehension_ he seldom received. Tom remembered that one time where he had placed a friendly hand on her shoulder, but she gave him a look that caused him to stop immediately. He almost started wondering if Darren had done anything _physical_ to her as well for her to act that way to _him_ , but his jaw clenched and he stopped the thought from developing.

However, he _did_ have this one thought, and it didn’t stop biting.

“ _Why_ did you date him for so long?”

Apparently, Mara was completely ready to answer this question. Her tears dried up by now, and her eyes were still stinging from her mascara. She deeply inhaled.

“Because I was 19, I was running away from my mommy issues, and I wanted to experience being an ‘adult’ with an older man who I thought made me feel that way. But do you _realise_ how _young_ 19 is? I’m turning 27 in three months, and as a 19-year-old I felt like the biggest fucking adult ever, but was I really? Fuck no.”

The one thing that stood out to Tom was the fact that she mentioned _mommy issues_. He ignored the fact that she was apparently more swear-prone while sad. Mara had never mentioned having issues with her mother to him, nor has Benedict or Sophie slid it past either. If anything, he heard her speaking more about her brother than her own guardians.

“… _mummy issues?_ ”

It was at this point that Mara realised that Tom had never known about this portion about her life.

“How much would you like to know?”

He shrugged. “However much you’re comfortable telling me.”

“That’s… everything, then.” This didn’t seem to frighten her off, but a light film of unease could be felt still. It was as if she _had_ openly spoken about it beforehand, except that Tom was never there to hear it.

Mara grabbed her slightly-cooled teacup, sipping it before continuing again. “As you know, um… I’m a musician. A _musician_. You know what Ken, my brother is, right? He’s a chemical engineer. You know what my mom and dad are? My dad’s an ophthalmologist and my mom’s an optometrist. Do you _know_ how much of a sore thumb I already seem like?”

“I don’t know if I, um, mentioned it, but I’ve lived next to Harvard University, the Ivy League, for a good portion of my life. My mom had insisted on raising Ken and I in its city Cambridge, because she had some freak belief that the proximity would ‘inspire’ us to get in and pursue lifelong dreams of success at the expense of dissatisfaction. Playing the violin and what not were _only_ meant to ‘spice up’ my college application, so you could imagine the nasty shock my mom had when she found that I wanted to actually pursue it as a _career_.”

As Tom was hearing her speak, he almost felt as if he was hearing _himself_ speak under a guise of an American violinist. He’d brushed on the surface about the _initial_ tension with his father regarding career choices in interviews, stating that his father would say that he was ‘putting that brain of his to waste’, but eventually came around once he saw how successful Tom had become as an actor. However, it seemed that Mara’s mother had _not_ come around, despite her daughter’s own success in the last few years.

Tom was simultaneously intrigued and disturbed that he was learning so much about her in the span of an hour or so. He almost felt as if he were intruding in her personal life, knowing rather sensitive information now.

“When… when did you decide that you wanted to pursue music as a career?”

Mara thought about this for a moment. Then, “I was probably about… 14-ish. My mom was already pushing me to do local competitions, but she viewed them as a way to see my progress on the violin and not for the whole ‘fun’ factor. I actually _did_ like them… when I wasn’t having my mom yakking on about notes that she took during my violin lessons for me to read over.”

 _I don’t even know why she came to my lessons, she didn’t even play violin_ , Mara thought. _Besides, I heard everything my teacher said the first time._

“Did the competitions influence your career?”

“My career started because of one,” she abruptly told him meekly. “That’s not something I can take for granted.”

 _Humble_ , Tom thought to himself.

He almost wanted to laugh at the environment that they were currently in. Having Mara vent about her issues— _why_ she had even cried in the first place— and Tom asking her questions… he felt like a bloody _therapist_.

 _I offered her tea and to sit in my living room so we can talk… about all of_ _that_ _, apparently. But my own thoughts are intruding. I would be a terrible therapist._

His knee lightly hit her’s, and they both simultaneously apologised. Mara gave him a pitiful look, which Tom only replied with a sheepish one.

Then, she asked him something that _he_ didn’t expect.

“Since we're on the topic, um… did anyone in your family oppose your choice of career?”

Tom blinked at her. He took a deep breath.

“My father did.”

Mara’s eyebrows furrowed. “Did he act like my mother?”

Now, _he_ went off a bit.

“A carbon copy, basically. I, erm… I attended Eton College when I was a teenager per his insistence, which was also around the time that I decided that I wanted to be an actor. He was _very_ displeased, telling me that I was ‘putting that brain of mine to waste’ if I’d pursue something in the _arts_ of all subjects. You see, he was, erm, a physical chemist, so _completely_ different from my route, and I reluctantly understood his ‘lowly’ view on something I was rather passionate about.”

“It was easy for me to be caught up on what he’d criticise about it, especially since it was all being said by a man who I was supposed to look up to and respect. Of course, I respect him now, and he does in return, but I happened to be a very vulnerable, very critical teenager who wanted the approval of a disapproving father. I assume that you, erm… you also felt the same, based on what you told me.”

“ _Of course_ ,” Mara exhaled, absolutely _pained_ to hear that Tom had experienced this as well. It seemed that she wasn’t the only black sheep in a familial-dominated field of academia. “Except, um… my mother still isn’t very keen on it. It’s a topic we tend to avoid when I visit… Ken’s more of her favourite, but I’m glad he doesn’t rub it in my face or anything.”

He was actually _appalled_ by this statement. “Your mother should _not_ be playing favourites. You and him are both of her children, are you both not?”

“The drive for successful children is at an all-time high in her life— I honestly don’t think she’s just about finished.”

Mara paused for a moment.

Although she wasn’t crying anymore, she looked a bit disappointed.

“You know what? Do you mind if, um, we put this subject to rest? I just—“

“—oh, yes, of course—“

“—sorry, it’s just that I didn’t exactly, um, come here to speak so lowly about my _mother_ , of all people. I was crying about my ex-boyfriend…”

Tom was slightly (and discreetly) irked, apparently interpreting her words as if _she_ was the one at fault with her mother's expectations, which never changed like his father's own. Besides, he had _almost_ forgotten about the topic of Darren. Almost.

She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry you had to hear me yakking on about my issues. I know you _totally_ didn’t expect this to happen.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he reassured her. “I _completely_ understood everything you told me, about _Darren_ , or… or about your mum. You can vent to me all you want, okay? I’ll be all ears, I’ll be here to listen.”

Mara gave him an actual smile for once since she arrived, which Tom cherished the image of. “Thank you.”

As if the end of the subject had been signalled, Mara’s phone started go off in her coat pocket. She looked over and fished for it without looking, and glanced at the screen. Naomi was calling her.

She tilted the screen over for Tom to glance at it. “My manager’s calling. Um… can I go take this really quickly?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Standing up, Mara carefully stepped around Tom barefoot, her baby-blue tulle dress flowing after her a bit. He couldn’t help but turn in her direction as she headed towards the archway, cheeks turning pink at the sight of her form, which he thought was basically ethereal. Tom was snapped out of his daydreaming when she popped back in.

“Hi, um, before I take this call, can you tell me where the bathroom is? I kinda, um… look like _shit_ , and I just wanna clean myself up a bit.”

“Just turn right once you exit the archway,” he hastily replied. He heard a meek ‘thank you’ as she headed out again.

Turning back to where he was sitting, Tom eyed the heels that were placed next to his coffee table. Amusedly, he couldn’t help but think how Mara managed to perform for practically half an hour, _standing_ and wearing _heels_. It had to be something she was used to.

He then focused on his attention to her violin case, where the Stradivarius he briefly held back in March was situated in. Tom almost missed the feel and view of it up close, despite barely knowing anything about the violin.

If anything, he hopes that she’s never encountered the excerpt from _Only Lovers Left Alive_ , where he ‘played’ Paganini’s Caprice No. 5 on the violin. She’d probably joke about it for months on end.

Suddenly, Tom heard barking from upstairs and the light sound of patters from feet. Before Mara had arrived, Bobby had been taking a short nap, and he must’ve woken up a few minutes ago. Glancing at the archway, where Mara had left, Tom came up with an idea…

Well, even it totally contradicted what Mara had said earlier. 

 

* * *

 

Mara tried to make do with tap water and the boxed facial tissues to remove all of her makeup since it would be redundant to attempt to save it. She also doubted that Tom had makeup remover casually lying around in his minimalistic-looking bathroom, anyway. Simultaneously, Mara had put Naomi on speaker and was speaking to her about the performance earlier as she stood in front of Tom’s bathroom sink.

“Maestro Tilson Thomas missed performing with you,” Naomi said as a matter-of-factly. “He says that the San Francisco Symphony is open for another performance with you if you’re available.”

“I haven’t performed in San Francisco in nearly _seven_ years,” Mara noted semi-audibly. “What month have I been scheduled up to?”

“January of next year. Arizona, Phoenix Symphony Orchestra.”

She blinked. _That’s in 2019. Wicked good._ “Could they request me after that? The flight to California isn’t too long from there.”

“I’ll speak with the coordinators if the Maestro really wants you again.”

Mara attempted to wipe her eye makeup without roughly rubbing on her skin. “Please. He’s a joy to work with.”

“Duly noted.”

A brief pause.

Naomi spoke up again.

“Where are you now?” she asked. “Are you resting at home?”

“At a friend’s home,” Mara responded quickly, her cheeks turning pink.

It seemed like Naomi was processing this. Well, to Mara at least.

“Make sure you get plenty of rest afterwards,” Naomi advised in a motherly sort-of way. “We don’t want _Violinist.com_ talking about ‘Menuhin Competition winner Mara Blanchard’s one-time fainting spell’. Oh, by the way, your interview with their editor Laurie is tomorrow, so you _have_ a reason to be well-rested, anyway.”

Mara rolled her eyes amusedly. “We’ll have a lot to talk about, then.”

As she finished, Mara stared at her bare-faced self in the mirror. After more talking, Mara said a ‘see you later’ before Naomi hung up.

 _At least I don’t really look that bad anymore_.

Mara continued to stare at herself. Only _a lot of_ minutes ago was she sobbing in front of Tom Hiddleston, basically having him listen to her complaining about a portion of her life story. She felt bad for dragging him into it, but he didn’t show any opposition to it. Unless he was hiding it to be nice. That thought hurt her.

Strangely enough, she felt a bit more relieved being able to get that information off her chest. Without Sophie, who was still upset with her, or Caroline, who lived in mainland Europe, or any of her other friends back in the States, Mara felt a bit deprived of being able to express how she truly felt. Well, as close as she was to Naomi, whom she’d been working with since the start of her career, Mara felt it was best to maintain a professional relationship with her.

If anything, she was now incredibly grateful for Tom.

She unlocked the door, walking on the cold hardwood floor back to the living room, not noticing the brown spaniel playing with a chew toy in the foyer.

 

* * *

 

Tom had finished his tea and was returning his teacup and saucer in the sink when he saw Mara through the window of the kitchen door. She was no longer wearing any makeup, and Tom thought she was still pretty even with a bare-face. Phone in hand, Mara started to walk over to the sofa when Bobby suddenly ran over to her and jumped on her a few times.

“Bobby!” Mara exclaimed, beaming. She started to play with him a bit. “I haven’t seen you in _so long_ , _how are you_ —“

“—he just woke up earlier,” Tom interjected, walking back in and seeing the lovely sight of her and his dog. “Apparently, he seems to like you.”

“Hm… I guess he _does_ ,” she assumed, sitting on the floor and patting her legs. The spaniel excitedly circled her before he started to reach for her by the dress, which Tom yelped a bit at.

“Bobby, don’t ruin her dress, please,” Tom told his dog as if he were a parent scolding a child. “I’m sure it must’ve cost her a lot…”

“I have _loads_ of dresses, I’m fine,” she absentmindedly told him as she started petting Bobby. “You’re such a good boy! I’m completely jealous of your Tom.”

“I’m still your owner, not her,” Tom jokingly said to the spaniel as he sat down next to Mara. “Come here, come here.”

Bobby circled around Tom as he did to Mara until he pattered out of the room. Tom gave a mock look of offence and she burst out laughing as they both stood up.

Through the archway, they watched Bobby go back to his chew toy in the foyer before Mara looked up at Tom. Without her heels, she felt so… _tiny_ compared to him. He gave her a warm smile.

“I didn’t say this earlier,” Mara began. “But… _thank you_ , honestly.”

He was intently listening to her at this point. Well, more than he usually did.

“Most of the other people I’m, um, close to… are back in the United States—“ _And one of our closest friends hates me right now_ , “—so… I’m glad that you… _bothered_ to listen, I guess.”

“Remember? I’ll be here to listen. It can be two in the morning, or I could be… on the _other side_ of the globe. I’ll be all ears any time you need me.” He stepped closer to her.

Mara took a deep breath, becoming a bit nervous. “I’m honestly really grateful for… you— really. I feel so much more relieved, saying things I don’t _normally_ say—“

All of a sudden, he had done something so _out of character for_ _him_ that made Mara nearly pass out in her stance. He took her by the arms and _hugged_ her. Tom Hiddleston was fucking _hugging her_.

…her face turned an unhealthy shade of red in his arms, and by instinct did she wrap her own around his body. (Trying to) Ignoring the fact that he was rather muscular, she silently revelled in his woodsy, earthy cologne and soft embrace. She felt him rest his chin on the top of her head, and not once did she ever think of wanting this to end, despite how abrupt it was. Abrupt was sort of their thing.

You know, like the fact that he _might’ve_ slipped a note with his phone number in the pocket of her peacoat while she was in the bathroom.

> _I’m all ears._
> 
> __
> 
> +44 07…
> 
> __
> 
> _TWH_

 

* * *

 

_Extra_

 

…In the back of their minds, they only remembered how some minutes ago, they had both hugged in the living room. Platonically, they thought.

Mara stared up at Tom’s ‘library _wall_ ’ in amazement, eyes scanning over the titled spines of each novel. This was done to distract herself from these thoughts, ignoring the fact that Tom was currently watching her look at his wall. She noticed that some of them were in Latin, some were heavily worn (as an indication of how many times he’d read it), or some were brand-new. In regards to the newer books, Mara figured that he must’ve bought them recently but never had enough free time to sit down by his fireplace and read them.

What caught her attention was how several of the books were not pushed in all the way. Sticky notes poked out of them with scribbled notes in pen or pencil.

 _He must’ve had to analyse those for a role or whatever_ , she theorised. _Man, he takes a lot of notes… well, I can’t talk. My urtext books all look like that._ Mara inwardly rolled her eyes at her own mannerisms.

It didn’t take her long to notice that Tom had organised the shelves in a particular method— any books related to Shakespeare (biographies, plays) were placed in one side, Greco-Roman works were on top, classics (such as Austen, Dickens, and what not) were situated on the right. What Mara figured out to be a section for playwrights’ works were below the classics, taking note of his apparent interest in Pinter and Shaffer (as their works took up a good portion of that area). More contemporary works and other novels that weren’t even in _English_ took up the remainder of the space, which there seemed to be an awful amount of.

Mara randomly pulled a book out and briefly studied it. Three white silhouettes, two men and a woman, were depicted on the cover.

> _[Winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature]_ _Harold Pinter — Betrayal_

Tom spoke up as she slid it back onto the shelf.

“How do you like it?” Tom asked, curious. He realised that she just finished looking at one of his books. “Er, my book wall, I mean.”

He purposely stayed at a distance from her, afraid that he'd suddenly feel the need to come into physical contact with her… again.

“I would nearly _kill_ to have this in my house,” Mara bluntly responded, looking over at him and blushing. “Can you imagine? A whole wall of sheet music for me, instead. I’d literally die of happiness.”

He nervously chuckled. “It would be… _inadvisable_ for you to… _kill_ for all of that. However, I will admit that the process of building this collection took an eternity.”

“Oh, I would imagine.” Mara crossed her arms over her chest. “Honestly, I don’t think I’d be able to build a feasible collection of this size. Sheet music is kinda skinny.”

She continued. “Besides, I’m one of _those_ musicians who occasionally use digital sheet music. If anything, I don’t really see you as the type of person to read Shakespeare off of your iPhone, so you can achieve, um, _that_ —“ Mara gestured over at the wall, “—fairly quickly.”

Tom nonchalantly shrugged. “Physical copies are better,” he admitted.

“I _mean_ … um…”

All he did was raise a brow at her, and Mara shut up for a moment. Her cheeks became even pinker.

“Okay, _well…_ ” she began, hoping (and failing) to avert the attention away from her previous comment. “Ugh, fine. Do you know how _cool_ it is to hold a centuries-old manuscript? Call me an antiquarian all you want, I guess…”

“ _Yes_ ,” Tom responded, beaming down at her. “I was able to examine one of Shakespeare’s folios around the time I was performing _Coriolanus_ a couple of years ago. It was… breathtaking, as cliché as that sounds. To have an item in your possession that’s survived several wars and historical circumstances, especially in relatively _pristine_ condition… had I not been surrounded by my cast, perhaps that folio would be here right now, meticulously displayed in a glass box in my foyer.”

 _I love how he’s so dedicated to this sort of stuff_ , Mara thought to herself. _You can hear his love for what he talks about._

It became quiet after he spoke. Tom couldn’t accurately read the expression on Mara’s face… if she was making a face at all in the first place. She was only staring up at him, ignoring the fact that he creased his eyebrows a bit in confusion. As she continued to gaze at him, Tom was starting to think that maybe she was unimpressed by his rambling (even if Mara would _never_ feel that way in a million years).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ‘extra’ portion wasn’t originally in my plans, but turns out that it adds some background to future events. So... win?


	13. May, 2018: 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Texting shenanigans.  
> Babysitting compensation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why have my chapters been getting longer? Anyway, turns out that May of 2018 will have 6 instalments to address that. Summertime is coming.  
> Also, I’m currently working on a one-shot that’s Tom/Reader (or Tom/OFC, depending on people’s view on it). I can’t guarantee when I’ll post it (hopefully this _year_ eek), but you can look out for it if you like this story (and/or my writing style).  
> Thank you for the lovely kudos/comments/subscriptions.  
> Remember, there are links to give visual/auditory references.

_May 2018_

 

When one embraces someone that they've fallen for, it becomes rather difficult to… well,  _forget_ it. Especially the minuscule details that characterise the incident— their scent, how they hugged back (if they did at all), what they were wearing, what the  _enactor_  was wearing, where they were, what time of day it occurred.

For Tom, he stayed up a good extra hour lying in his bed, staring at his ceiling yet again. Mara had actually left his house in a substantially happier mood than when she arrived, which was something he noticed. Her departure was about two hours ago, and yet Tom couldn't stop thinking about the fact that she was actually at his  _house_ , sitting on his sofa, drinking his tea. He couldn't stop thinking about how he saw her at one of her most vulnerable states and yet she still bothered to come over, since a promise was a promise.

At some point, the hug happened out of nowhere, and Tom had a thought that maybe he went too far.

 _She really wouldn't have expected me to do that_ , he thought to himself.  _I should've asked her— idiot! I_ _really_ _should have asked her before I went ahead and just embraced her out of the blue. Way to have your emotions taking the lead, you prick._

He picked at the neckline of his white T-shirt. Before she left, Tom decided to give a brief tour of his house to her to pass the time. After persuading his dog that Mara's dress  _wasn't_ something to tug at, Tom had led Mara up the next two storeys of his home.

…it wasn't an accident that he spent the least amount of time showing her his own bedroom. The image of her innocently walking into and observing the room where he occasionally did…  _that_ — didn't help his dignity at all. He remembered quickly ushering her out, insisting that the next room was far better of a sight.

_["Oh…" Mara began, looking reluctant. "We're leaving this room already? I just got here."_

_"Well, er…" Tom scratched the back of his neck. He hoped she didn't see how flustered he was getting as she walked next to his tidy king-sized bed. "The next room is a lot better to look at. This… this is all a mess, I don't think you'd want to bother with this—"_

_"—no, it's fine, though. But I've only been in here for like…_   _two_ _seconds—"_

_His hand hovered over the small of her back, the other hand gesturing out into the hall. "I'm sorry… out— out you get. The— erm… the other room is better. Upstairs… next floor."_

_When Tom saw Mara starting to protest, he quickly interjected. "No— I swear. My bedroom is a heap of rubbish— you'll like the next room better."]_

Mara guesses that the trade-off was fine, since the third storey loft ended up being her favourite room of Tom's house.

There, she found his enormous wall of well-read books with the titles on the spines that were visible from the light of the floor lamp. On the wall perpendicular to the books were framed paintings or movie posters— he explained to her that he changed it every month. A wide wooden desk with organisers was placed across, and a video camera with a stand was next to it. The chair for his desk was sitting in front of the video camera.

His couches were leather here, but he had neutral-coloured throw blankets folded neatly over the backrest. His flat-screen television was installed across from the seats, and on the left was another wall of shelves for DVDs and other media. This collection was much smaller, but perhaps it was only because of the size of the cases.

_["Do you own the films you star in?" Mara asked him as she studied the other wall of films, looking for a familiar title from his filmography._

_Tom nervously chuckled. "Out of courtesy, yes."]_

For the remainder of the time, Tom sat in the desk chair in front of the video camera as Mara sat on the nearest couch, conversing about  _lighter_ topics.

_[…Mara pointed at Tom's video camera. "Um, excuse me, future YouTube personality."_

_"As if!" Tom interjected amusedly. "That's not the purpose of me owning the video camera."_

_"Uh huh." She combed her fingers through her hair as she continued in a sarcastic tone. "We're 'millennials', we have to do our fair share of humble bragging and incessant complaining for strangers, obviously."]_

The semi-pointless conversations with her was something that he enjoyed. Well, besides the vague tension between them at other times, but that's different—

 _Anyway_ , Tom hopes that she finds the paper that he left in her peacoat's pocket. Hastily writing down the note and his number on the ripped corner of tissue, he placed it neatly inside. In the back of his mind, he ignored the thought of her mistaking it for trash and disposing it as he drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

She hugged him yesterday. After an interesting yet  _agonising_  two months of knowing Tom, Mara had actually embraced him.

To be honest, it came out of nowhere. In no way did she expect for him to hug her after her ugly sobbing and measly confessions, but it happened anyway. Oddly, she felt as if she was a perfect fit in his arms, nearly burying her face in his chest and inhaling his cologne, which was potent enough to cling onto her hair even when she arrived home.

…she had to take a deep breath after thinking that.

_You wacko._

Well, Mara didn't hate the incident (besides her self-proclaimed strange thoughts), though. She didn't regret it happening either. Somewhere in her mind, her conscience was holding up a large  _That's what I thought!_ sign, in response to her previous thoughts that she shouldn't pursue a relationship because of her  _career_.

This became the subject of an argument between herself and her conscience while she was doing the laundry.

_Is Tom… really someone I should be with?_

_Well, that's not something you can predict. Honestly. He's substantially more successful and_ _busier_ _than you are, so the chance of anything happening is… bleh._

 _I don't know— I just feel weird. I remember when I was in Poland and that article about us came out… yeah,_ _shocker_ _,_ _I know, Mara Blanchard gets Hollywood exposure for once in her life— but still! That's when I kept saying that my career is more important than anything else._

She tied a ribbon around the hanger for the baby blue tulle dress, identifying its need to be sent to dry cleaning.

_It is more important. Who cares if you're madly in love if you're half-dead and financially unstable on the side of the road?_

_…be quiet. I'm just saying— I mean, I haven't exactly been in a relationship in a while…_

_And why is that?_

Mara pinched the bridge of her nose.

Her conscience continued.  _I know— Mr. Harvard Hotshot!_

 _Obviously. You know, I was doing really well until I saw him yesterday._ She rolled her eyes.

_Look, if the only type of men you attract are manipulative dip shits, then how will your hypothetical relationship with Tom work?_

_He's not like that— it's easier for me to tell now, oh_ _how funny_ _. Anyway, he's not._

 _I know deep down that you're reluctant still. You can be really impulsive, you know? Always wanting to get to something if you think it's right_ _at that moment_. _Catch a break._

_But… it's Tom. I don't care if he's famous or anything—_

_—yeah, I know you don't care about stuff like that—_

_—Mhm. Or maybe I'm just starved of a healthy relationship._

_I doubt_ _he_ _wants a relationship in general. Look at you, you're emotionally unstable, and_ _younger_ _than him. I don't think he has time for someone like you._

Mara bit her lower lip.

_Ugh! Maybe you're right, brain. I don't want to force him into something based on my own possibly one-sided emotions._

She was holding the black peacoat in her lap, doing her routine of checking all pockets and sleeves before throwing it in the washer. All of a sudden, she felt the familiar smoothness of paper, and Mara raised a brow.

_I didn't eat out yesterday, right? Not a receipt._

_Nah. It feels like tissue. Did— did you forget to throw a tissue away?_

_…_ _no_. _Wait, what—_

There was writing on the tissue, and Mara's eyes skimmed the note. She dropped both the tissue and the peacoat on the floor in shock.

_He… it's his… oh my God—_

_—_ _that's a number. Wait, no, not just a number! Is that his number? That is his number! He just gave you his number_ _—_

Mara's thought process short-circuited. Backing up into the wall, she unceremoniously slid down until her bottom hit the floor. For a moment, she had a dazed look on her face.

"What…" Mara breathed out in complete disbelief.

She leaned her head back, lightly hitting the wall with a  _thud_.

Grabbing the tissue, she looked over it again and again, analysing his handwriting. In the back of her mind, Mara thought of becoming a temporary forensic handwriting analyst to see if it was actually Tom's writing and not someone else that was messing with her. She had never seen his handwriting before, so the note was a bit of a sight for her to behold.

_Why would— Mara, it's his writing. He gave you the tissue. He gave you his number._

_What if it's not even his? What if it's, like… like some number for a_ _therapist_ _, oh my God—_

_—_ _ugh_ _, it's his, I tell you!_

She ran her fingers through her hair in exasperation.  _Fine, okay! Let's just say it's his. What am I supposed to do with it?_

Her conscience facepalmed in her mind.  _If you're insisting on the whole relationship situation, might as well put it to good use… no guarantee it'll work though. The number isn't going anywhere unless you throw that paper away…_

Standing up from the floor and smoothing out her pants, Mara started to eye her phone, which sat on the counter next to the sink.

Oh, if only she knew what to say.

Actually— if only he  _knew_  how she felt, really.

 

* * *

 

Her slight preoccupation with Tom—  _his phone number_  served as a bit of an obstacle when she had her interview with Violinist.com's editor Laurie, an older woman who was also a violinist as well. From what Mara heard, she had decided to attend the concert during her mini-vacation in London with her husband.

The interview on Skype was later in the day, after Mara decided to bring out her yoga mat and do a few poses to fulfil her monthly self-proclaimed 'physical activity quota'. She was still in her activewear when Laurie started speaking to her.

With a few introductions and small talk, Laurie proceeded to ask Mara about her recent performance in London, writing down notes of her responses on a notepad.

"Your performance of the Violin Concerto by Sibelius was  _riveting_. What I find fascinating in particular was your adeptness to appeal to the ears of both the casual concertgoer and the professional musician by bringing the nature of the piece to life."

Mara beamed at her through the screen. "Thank you. You know, it's actually quite difficult  _to_ capture the right atmosphere, or really just to abide to the unexpressed expectations  _of_ Jean Sibelius himself for this particular piece.  _I_ actually found difficulty with it, which was why no one had ever seen me perform this  _concerto_  ever since I got thrust into the public eye at the start of the decade."

Both Mara and Laurie chuckled, Mara's veering towards nervousness a bit. However, Laurie didn't notice this, which relieved the younger brunette woman. She wasn't really in the mood to reveal the actual reason as to  _why_ she hadn't performed the piece in over a decade.

Laurie spoke up. "Of course— it's  _notorious_ for that very reason, but it seems shockingly simple to displease an audience if you don't strictly follow the 'guidelines' set by the composer. However, those so-called 'guidelines' are a  _bit_ subjective, so an audience may be disappointed if you don't appeal to their  _needs_ , really."

"Right. I  _did_ experience that a bit, particularly when I was younger…" Mara admitted sheepishly.

On her end, Laurie gave her a pitiful look. "Unfortunately, I  _do_ remember reading some unbecoming reviews during your performance at the final round of the 2010 Menuhin Competition… Shostakovich, right?"

Mara nodded, slightly amused. "Yes, his Violin Concerto in A Minor. It's strange, really, since  _visuals_ were part of  _that_  audience's needs, as far as I could tell. My technical approach to Shostakovich's polyphonic style was fine, apparently, but me not smiling or prancing around suddenly makes the performance a big ol' train-wreck."

Suddenly, she remembered talking about this very subject with  _Tom_  in this same situation— through Skype. She had been babysitting Benedict and Sophie's sons when Benedict wanted to check up on them, but Tom had answered the video call for him.

She glanced at her phone on the kitchen counter next to her laptop, eyeing the tissue corner that she placed in the back of her clear case. The thought of Tom started to distract her a bit.

_Maybe I should text him now— or, well, you know, later. This interview has to go on._

It took a while for Mara to register Laurie's next few words since she was still fixated on Tom's handwriting.

"It's fine to focus on both the visual and auditory aspects of an orchestral performance, but I do think there's a bit of a boundary in regards to prioritising one over the other. I noticed that it  _usually —_  um, now, feel free to disprove me, but it tends to be female solo violinists that are occasionally subjected to  _redundant_  expectations of looking visually appealing to the audience. Should looks  _really_  mean anything if their playing is phenomenal? Are our male counterparts raising the same questions for similar performances?"

Her questions were rhetorical, but Mara almost didn't process that.

"Yeah, no, I  _totally_ agree," she responded a bit absentmindedly, still eyeing Tom's phone number. The need for her to text Tom was exponentially increasing, and she  _really_ couldn't wait to do so. "It's… it's something. It's really something…"

 

* * *

 

The first text message happened on a whim.

In fact, it took a great deal of patience and about two servings of coffee the next morning for Mara to send it. Her heart palpitating was from her nervousness and the caffeine, but she equally ignored both.

`_10:14 M: hi Tom, it's Mara. I got your tissue note, so thank you, lol. good thing I found it in my coat pocket before putting in the wash— good morning, though!_ (star-struck emoji)`

Immediately, the nervousness overpowered.

 _Oh no, I think I rambled on too much. What if he's busy and doesn't respond? What if he's thinking that I say too much? What if he thinks the way I text is weird? What if he thinks_ _I'm_ _weird? …if he already doesn't think that?_

It doesn't take Tom too long to respond, actually. At his home, his phone was on the kitchen counter, and he just finished scrapping the contents of his pan in the waste bin. Placing the pan on the stove, he grabs his phone and finds that a vaguely familiar number had texted him. Upon seeing Mara's name, he's eager to continue the conversation. He unties his apron, hangs it on the wall hook, and starts to type quickly.

(…Tom was also  _relieved_ that she had  _not_ disposed of the tissue with his number on it like he previously thought.)

`_10:15 T: Good morning Mara!_ (waving hand emoji)  _How are you?_`

Tom bit his lower lip.  _Is that a good response? Would she think that that's inadequate?_

` _10:15 M: oh, I'm pretty good so far. had some coffee. and you?_ `

Mara scratched the back of her neck.  _He doesn't need to know about my high coffee consumption. He doesn't!_

` _10:15 T: I'm good as well._ `

` _10:15 T: I DID almost overcook my scrambled eggs, so that wasn't too lucky of me this morning…_ `

He narrowed his eyes at the darkened pan on his stove.

` _10:15 M: did you burn them?_ `

`_10:15 T: Overcooked. I overcooked them. Disregard the 'almost'. They were the last of my eggs from the carton._ (relieved sad emoji)`

` _10:16 T: Fine. 'Overcooked' was a euphemism. I burnt them._ `

Mara felt bad for laughing at this information.

She hesitates a bit before responding, making the ellipsis bubble appear on his screen a couple of times.

A portion of her days in conservatory involved Mara poking fun at her friends when they'd do lightheartedly absurd actions, accidentally or purposefully. For Mara, a bit of her younger self came back to point out her slightly amusement with the fact that Tom was like any other individual with mishaps and what not.

` _10:17 M: From 'telegraph.co.uk' — Actor Tom Hiddleston burns his morning scrambled eggs_ `

Mara loudly exhaled.  _Wait, what if he gets offended? This sounds as if I'm mocking him… wait, no! I_ _am_ _mocking him! He's going to think I'm_ _absolutely_ _disrespectful…_

`_10:17 T:_ (sweating grinning emoji)`

` _10:17 T: From 'classicfm.com' — Violinist Mara Blanchard calls out Actor Tom Hiddleston for his poor skill in cooking scrambled eggs_ `

Her eyes widen a bit.  _Um, never mind then._ She nervously chuckles, still reluctant to (hypothetically) put another toe out of line.

`_10:17 M:_ (sneezing emoji)`

` _10:17 M: wow ok_ `

`_10:18 T: I know how you respond now._ (smiling emoji)`

` _10:18 T: Except, I apparently don't know how to cook scrambled eggs properly. I DO know how to cook loads of other dishes, I promise._ `

On his end, Tom rolled his eyes.  _Great, she probably thinks that I'm a terrible cook now. She'll probably never want to be in my proximity while making food, fearing for her own safety in the event that I might just_ _burn_ _the bloody house down._

`_10:18 M:_ (unamused emoji) (laughing emoji)`

 

* * *

 

After the first conversation about whether or not correctly cooking scrambled eggs determined one's worth, the next one was started by Mara after about a day or two. Her workload was not at all heavy; she spent the last few hours (with a few breaks in between) refining the  _concerto_ she had performed at the Barbican Centre, as she had to perform it again at the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam eventually.

Mara decided to spice up their next conversation a bit. Their last few conversations were quite…  _normal_ — topics like cooking, health-related endeavours, anecdotes, or occasional pokes at one another, like one would normally do with their friends.

 _How_  would she spice up their conversation? She thought of a great idea— well, the idea was  _initially_ great to her, but after sending the text she suddenly realised that Tom might as well ghost her for her  _questionable_  taste.

Tom, on the other hand, was currently deciding on what to cook for dinner back at his home. His day was  _somewhat_ productive; earlier, he had gone out for a jog before coming back in to answer emails, clean the house, and take a slightly-long nap on the couch.

While going through a cookbook that Joshua had given to him, Tom heard a  _ping_ come from his phone, which sat on the kitchen counter. Setting the book down and picking up his phone, he read the text.

It was Mara.

` _17:23 M:_ [[Attachment: 1 image] (Is this a good idea?)](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/185331771783/1-the-meme-mara-sends-to-tom-first-yes-she) `

Tom didn't reply immediately, but upon opening the image he raised a brow. He had to use all of the analytical skills he learned in his lifetime to interpret it in the manner that she'd want him to do, he assumed.

…he couldn't.

` _17:25 T: …I don't understand. Where is this from?_ `

On her end, Mara took a deep breath.  _Right. We're old._

` _17:27 M: have you not seen this (or any variation of it) on Twitter? I think it's a new format. it's like all over the site lol_ `

` _17:27 T: I don't check._ `

` _17:27 M: I'm sure your stan accounts have probably used these at some point this month already_ `

On his end, Tom blankly stared at his phone screen.

` _17:27 T: My what?_ `

` _17:27 T: Oh, nevermind. I know what you mean. Silly of me to forget— I TALKED about stan culture in an interview last month while I was promoting Infinity War._ `

`_17:28 M: in an interview? about Infinity War? what's the context for that?_ (skull emoji)`

Tom chuckled.

` _17:30 T: Well, you see, I was in the interview with my fellow co-stars Letitia Wright and Sebastian Stan, and the interviewer had asked Sebastian if he was familiar with the concept of "stan-ing". I was given the opportunity to explain what it was for them and our… future audience._ `

` _17:31 M: and you know it?_ `

Turning her laptop on, Mara was now multi-tasking as she was currently on the hunt to find that interview somewhere on YouTube. But Tom didn't need to know that.

` _17:31 T: Stems from an Eminem song addressed to a rather obsessive fan._ `

` _17:31 M: oh yeah, you're definitely well versed_ `

To her, the fact that Tom actually knew this sort of stuff was  _hilarious_. She imagined him lurking around on Instagram and/or Twitter, seeing how people are discussing him while making wholesome tweets or posting every photo they find of him,  _maybe_ just searching up the other…  _things_ that he and even  _Mara_  would be too "old" to know.

` _17:31 T: Okay, I know about stan culture, but I'm afraid that I still don't really understand the picture you sent._ `

` _17:32 T: Sorry, I'm old. I'm out of the loop for a lot of this._ `

` _17:32 M: nah, you're fine. I'll send you the original still (I'd rather you not ask me why I have it)_ `

(Kenneth had sent her the picture before out of nowhere, but that's not the point.)

` _17:32 M:_ [[Attachment: 1 image] (Is this a pigeon?)](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/185331771783/1-the-meme-mara-sends-to-tom-first-yes-she) `

` _17:33 M: back in the early ~90s, there was this anime show called The Brave Fighter of Sun Fighbird. my cousin Tyler, the art historian, used to watch it a lot— ANYWAY, it's about this outer space commander named Fighbird whose soul merges with a humanlike android that this Japanese scientist built, taking the appearance of a human named Yutaro Katori. I mean, since the guy is literally from space, he doesn't know jack squat about anything on Earth, so that's why he has to ask questions like if butterflies are pigeons, lol_ `

` _17:34 T: So he's just mistaking objects and what not for completely different things? That would make sense if Earth isn't his native home._ `

Mara blankly stared at her phone.  _He's… he's_ _actually_ _paying attention to this and asking/saying meaningful things to a fucking_ _meme_ _that I sent him. This is actually… okay, no, Tom is_ _insane_ _. But in a good way, of course._

` _17:34 M: yeah!_ `

` _17:34 T: Alright, I think I understand now, thank you._ `

She sighed.  _And that's that._

Well, or so she thought.

` _17:36 T: I found one._ `

` _17:36 T:_ [[Attachment: 1 image] (Is this death?)](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/185331771783/1-the-meme-mara-sends-to-tom-first-yes-she) `

Upon opening the picture, Mara practically choked and burst out laughing.

`_17:37 M: TOM_ (laughing emoji 3x)`

` _17:37 T: Yeah, I've got the hang of it._ `

 

* * *

 

Mara had just poured the brown bag of  _cavatappi_  noodles in the boiling pot on the stove when she heard her text tone go off. Whipping her head to the source of the sound, she eyed her phone, which sat on the kitchen counter next to a cookbook.

Initially, she ignored it, stirring the noodles a bit to evenly distribute them in the pot. Her text tone went off again, and suddenly it intrigued her. Mara set down the wooden spoon and turned around to grab her phone, finding Tom's name on her screen.

` _12:10 T: I don't know if you've seen this before, but I just finished watching this and I thought you'd might find it interesting._ `

`_12:11 T:_ [TED-Ed — Why do we dream? — Amy Adkins — _youtube.com_ ]`

She blinked. ' _Why do we dream'… did he actually just send me a TED-Ed video? I wonder what he's doing right now._

…watching a playlist of TED-Ed videos as he poured out Bobby's food for him in his metal container.

Setting her phone down, Mara decided to finish boiling her pasta noodles before responding to Tom.

`_12:16 M: ooh, that DOES look interesting. I'm making lunch atm, so I'll put it on my 'Watch Later' list. also, I didn't know you watched TED-Ed videos_ (thinking emoji)`

He responded a bit later as well, and while waiting, Mara had cooked the pesto sauce to mix with the pasta.

_` 12:19 T: The video was in my 'Suggested' list, but I don't hesitate to watch all of the other ones that they've made. I find them incredibly informative, giving a lot of visual examples and explanations to help the viewer understand the main concept or question. It's healthy to keep learning new things, anyway, even while being attracted to visuals. Enriching your knowledge is such a profound activity, and it's easy to do!` _

`_12:19 T: This might also sound a bit strange, but the narrator's tone is also a (vague) contributing factor as to why I like these videos so much._ (sweating/grinning emoji)`

Mara smiled warmly.  _He's so wholesome. What's not to like about this guy?_

`_12:20 M: you totally seem like the type of person to enjoy TED-Ed videos. I mean, I can't blame you though._ (upside down emoji)  _do you have any others that you recommend?_`

She had a feeling that Tom had been waiting for her to ask this question because he  _immediately_  responded.

` _12:20 T: I'm SO glad you asked!_ `

Soon enough, Mara's phone practically blew up with texts of links to more videos.

`_12:23 T:_  [TED-Ed — What is déjà vu? What is déjà vu? — Michael Molina — _youtube.com_ ]`

`_12:23 T:_ [TED-Ed — What happens when you remove the hippocampus? — Sam Kean — _youtube.com_ ]`

`_12:23 T:_ [TED-Ed — Why are we so attracted to our things? — Christian Jarrett — _youtube.com_ ]`

`_12:23 T:_ [TED-Ed — Who am I? A philosophical inquiry — Amy Adkins — _youtube.com_ ]`

`_12:23 T:_ [TED-Ed — The benefits of a bilingual brain — Mia Nacamulli — _youtube.com_ ]`

`_12:23 T:_ [TED-Ed — The language of lying — Noah Zandan — _youtube.com_ ]`

She gaped at the sight of her phone screen as she mixed the pasta together.  _What the…_

Mara picked up her phone and in astonishment, replied to him.

` _12:24 M: …I did NOT expect you to send that many links. I'll save those all, though!_ `

Scrolling up and down the list, the sight of the last video title caught her attention.

` _12:24 M: wait you sent a video on lying. are you trying to imply something? lol_ `

`_12:24 T: No!_ (laughing emoji)  _It's genuinely interesting. I promise I didn't send it to insinuate anything._`

` _12:24 M: uh huh_ `

For a few minutes, there was no reply, and Mara suddenly worried that she made Tom unhappy. This thought quickly dissipated when he  _did_ respond.

`_12:27 T: I swear!_ (dizzy emoji)`

 

* * *

 

"Oh, I couldn't  _possibly_ , Mara. I mean, erm… there— there are probably some hotels I can find near the airport—"

"—are you kidding me? I have more than three bedrooms and  _trust me_ , I have no use for them."

It was a pleasant surprise for Mara upon discovering that Caroline was travelling to the UK— apparently, to visit her film critic father up in Manchester, but to also do a bit of revisiting and sightseeing in London. Mara hadn't seen her since January since she flew to her home in Zürich after spending Christmas and New Years' with her family in Massachusetts.

While in Zürich, Caroline didn't mind housing Mara for about a week, and she also didn't mind showing Mara around the entire city and either speaking about its history or her own experience while living in Switzerland. At home, Caroline and Mara were both  _slightly_ gossiping while Caroline taught her how to create  _spitzbuben_ , cookies filled with jam. Neither of them were ashamed of their gossip since they routinely did that every time they saw each other and were  _only_ with each other. They spoke about less controversial topics while being around other people.

Now, Mara was offering to have Caroline stay at her house while she stayed in London, but to no avail could she convince her to do so.

 _She's lucky that she's on the phone and not with me in person. We'd be arguing so_ _damn_ _loudly_ , Mara thought to herself.

"I don't want to  _disturb_ you, you're probably  _busy_ —"

"— _not_ until I have to fly to Amsterdam," Mara explained as a matter-of-factly on the phone. "You'll be in Manchester by that time like you said, so it's alright."

"But you need to  _practise_ ," Caroline pointed out. "You offered to show me around London because I know that  _you know_ that I usually just fly to Manchester from Zürich. I don't want to give you such a  _tedious_ task to do at the end of the month, since there's a lot to do and see in London, and you need to prepare for Amsterdam— I don't think you want to do all of that in a city that you already live in, anyway—"

"—but you didn't mind when  _I_ said these same words when I visited—"

— _that's_ different," Caroline interjected sharply. "That's…  _different._   _Very_ different.  _Completely_ different. Do not tell me otherwise."

"How?"

For a moment, Caroline was silent, and Mara could vaguely hear her breathing. She knew that Caroline was attempting to think of a plausible argument. Then, "I don't know how to explain it— it just  _is_. But I'll just feel  _terrible_ — and you  _know_ that I don't like taking advantage of people, especially  _you_ , since we've been friends for so long but we live so  _far_ from each other…"

Mara sighed heavily. This was going to take a lot longer than she thought.

 

* * *

 

Tom slowly walked over to the living room, carefully holding a wooden paint palette with only the three primary colours' supply replenished. He gingerly set it down on the coffee table, which was covered with disposable table cloth that he found in the cupboard.

"Colour?"

He glanced down to find Kit pointing at the paint palette and staring up at him with his slightly-more-blue-than-green eyes. Overall, the 2-year-old had a questioning look on his face.

"Oh, yes," Tom responded, attempting to crouch down to be at eye-level with him. "I got more paint for us because I  _know_ how creative you are with mixing the primary colours. I know you don't  _mean_ to since I know you like to experiment, but I need more than one colour to paint the houses and the trees, alright?"

Upon saying this, Tom eyed the  _other_ wooden paint palette they used beforehand, where the red, blue, and yellow paints were all apparently hand-mixed by the eldest Cumberbatch son to create a good shade of murky brown-purple. Which also got on his navy-blue jumper.

Turns out, Tom was babysitting at Benedict and Sophie's home again. He had arrived at the house to find Sophie wearing a pair of sunglasses and holding a large leather tote with  _libretto_  and score books, along with manuals and a Tupperware container filled with food. She didn't have much time to speak with him, but the older brunette woman was sure that he'd know all the basics like last time.

_["I'm coming home a bit late as I mentioned on the phone," Sophie reminded him at the front door, simultaneously checking for everything in her leather tote. "It's a bit unfortunate, especially since Ben is in Los Angeles to film for SNL, so I'm sorry I called on such late notice."_

_Tom shook his head. "No, no, it's completely fine. I wasn't very busy today, anyway."_

_Sophie looked up, gripping Tom's shoulder firmly. "You're taking precious time out of the day to look over our boys— there_ _has_ _to be a way for me to repay you—"_

_"—no, it's fine—"_

_"—no, I won't accept that answer," she sternly interjected. "We need to give something in return, like… erm, well, I can't think of anything at the moment, but we_ _will_ _, I promise."_

_Before Tom could say anymore, Sophie rushed out of the door and repeated her wishes before opening the door to her rental car and starting it up. Waving goodbye, Tom watched her back out of the parking spot before entering the house, hearing Kit's laughter as he poked at a squirming Hal in his bouncer chair.]_

To stop Kit from prodding at his brother the whole time, Tom found a set of cheap crafts paint in their house, which he knew was for the boys. He remembered Benedict going on and  _on_ about how he wanted his children to learn as much as he and Sophie could teach them at their age… activities like painting. Only time will tell whether Benedict might literally be on the pursuit to create child prodigies.

 _["You know, with painting… particularly_ _finger_ _painting," Benedict explained as he ate, not noticing how his voice got louder as he got more excited to speak about this. "It helps babies and toddlers to become aware of their senses, like understanding what the paint feels or smells like. They can develop their motor skills reasonably quickly since they're directly using their hands to create art on the canvas. I would recommend creating_ _edible_ _paint though, especially when they're younger than… say, two-years-old. They've got a bit of a nasty habit of putting their hands in their mouth with_ _no_ _care about whether something they just touched was actually_ _clean_ _or not, or even_ _non-toxic_ _. I mean, you could even develop_ _hand-eye_ _coordination as well, and I know you could get that predominantly by playing an instrument at a young age, but they're still too young to sit up at… at the_   _piano_ _or… or—"_

 _"—_ _Ben_ _," Tom_   _loudly_ _interjected, ignoring the stares of the other nearby people at the restaurant. He scratched his clean-shaven chin. "I'm appreciating your knowledge about this, but I would advise that you keep your voice down. Your voice kept getting louder and now practically the whole restaurant and_ _street_ _might as well hear your feats in parenting."]_

 _He just gets really excited to be a father, that's all_ , Tom thought to himself.

"I colour the trees. You colour the house?" Kit asked, lightly dipping a finger in the red paint and neatly painted the trunk of a tree on the large outlined drawing.

Tom amusedly watched him do so until in the corner of his eye, he saw Hal picking at his fabric restraint. "Yes, I will paint the house— let me just get your brother out, first."

Standing up and smoothing his pants down, Tom walked over to the youngest Cumberbatch son, who had his arms extended out. Chuckling, he pulled Hal out of the bouncer chair and carefully placed him on the floor. soon enough, Hal started to crawl over to the coffee table in hopes of joining his older brother and Tom with their painting endeavours.

"No," Tom said, grabbing Hal by the waist as soon as he saw the boy reaching out to touch the paint palette. He knew that Hal had the intention to put his hands in his mouth, as both Benedict and Sophie had warned him previously. "No, don't do that."

All of a sudden, Hal's face scrunched up a bit as he started to whimper. Tom cooed at him as he sat down on the floor next to Kit, placing Hal in his lap. While placing separate fingers in the blue and yellow paints to mix for the tree leaves, Kit turned around to give Tom and Hal a hard look. Tom, because as far as the eldest knew, he had broken his promise of painting the house. Hal, because Kit was never a fan of hearing his brother cry so much.

"I'm sorry, it's for your own good," Tom apologised to Hal, who started to tear up. "I don't think your mummy or daddy would want to find out that you've been eating paint under my supervision."

"You didn't colour the house," Kit reminded, still staring at Tom.

He sighed. "Your brother is crying, though. I don't think I can while he is."

"He cry too much."

At this, Tom burst into laughter. "You're not afraid to say what you do and don't like— you're  _just_ like your mummy."

"I don't like Hal's cry," the precocious boy commented. "He's too loud 'nd I  _don't_  like it."

"Lot of  _don'ts_  there," Tom pointed out before managing to calm Hal down completely. He stood up yet again while carrying the infant, eventually setting him down next to the small pile of rainbow-coloured blocks. Suddenly, Hal became fixated on the blocks and started to grab onto them.

He returned to the coffee table. "Right, now where were we?"

"House," Kit responded curtly, pointing at the outline of the building. He had just finished painting the trees. "Make it purple."

"Purple?" Tom asked. "And how do you make the colour purple?"

"Get the purple colour," the boy said as if it was the most obvious answer, which… it  _technically_  was.

Tom chuckled. "Well…  _yes_ , but how do you make it with  _these_ colours?" He gestured at the wooden paint palette with the primary colours.

It took a while for Kit to answer, being stuck in deep thought. Then, "Blue and red?"

" _Yes_ ," Tom responded slowly, lightly patting him on the shoulder. "Very good. Tell your daddy that you ought to enrol in an art class."

 

* * *

 

If Benedict or Sophie was home…  _particularly_ Benedict, they'd probably crack up at the sight of seeing Tom snoring on the couch with the Cumberbatch sons.

`_16:14 M: happy afternoon!_ (smiling emoji)`

The second Tom's phone vibrated on his chest, his body jerked and his eyes shot open.

"Huh?" he asked stupidly, quickly glancing around before picking up his phone. Fixing his glasses, he saw that Mara had texted him.

Making sure that he wouldn't disturb either boy, who laid down on his left and right, Tom hastily sent her a response.

` _16:14 T: Good afternoon. How are you?_ `

` _16:14 M: I'm good._ `

` _16:14 M: um… this is probably super weird, but I need to ask you something…_ `

Tom froze. He didn't know why, but a small pang of anxiety started to creep up on him.

_Why are you nervous? What she wants to ask will be harmless, calm down._

_But what if…_

His conscience would've rolled its eyes if it had any.  _No!_

` _16:15 T: What_ `

He mentally cursed, having sent the text too early.

` _16:15 T: Sorry, thumb slipped. What is it?_ `

Tom felt his heart pounding in his chest. For some reason, he was getting even  _more_ nervous.  _Please don't be bad,_ _please_ _don't be bad—_

` _16:17 M: what restaurants do you recommend? tbh there's a lot of places that I could go to in London alone, but I would like some insight on some places that you or others might recommend. I'm having an old friend of mine come over and I'd like to take her out somewhere for lunch at the end of the month, if you wanted some context as to why I'm asking, lol_ `

` _16:17 M: I wouldn't mind driving a bit to get to any place, just as long as it's still in the city_ `

Tom had a deadpanned look on his face.  _And you, sir, were acting as if she was about to say that someone she knew had just_ _died_ _or— or_ _something_ _else amongst those lines, I mean_ _honestly_ _._

All of a sudden, his mind went to work, trying to remember the name and ambience of every restaurant that he's ever been to while living in London for the past decade or so.

He slowly stood up in hopes of not waking the boys up and stretched out his limbs. Tom walked around the living room as he slowly compiled a mental list of restaurants he could recommend her. Eventually, he had reached the extra coat rack that was placed next to the other couch, where a red silk scarf hung. A small tag with a card was attached to it. Out of curiosity, Tom glanced at the tag and card as he continued to think.

> _— Dale of Norway —_
> 
> _I got this while I was in Bergen for my performance back in February of '18. Hope you like it!_
> 
> _~ Mara :-)_

Tom had a bit of an uneasy look on his face. He had completely forgotten about the rift between Mara and Sophie, and he realised that he was technically Mara's replacement for babysitting at the moment. If anything, he knew that Sophie wouldn't want to hear him feeling bad about that, or hear him speaking about Mara in general, so he thought that it'd just be best to keep quiet.

Well, for  _now_ , at least.

 _Wait, I still need to text Mara. Erm… well, I_ _did_ _go out for dinner with Luke, and he suggested that place. The food was phenomenal there— I might as well…_

` _16:23 T: It took me a while to think, sorry about that. I went out for dinner with my publicist (don't ask) at this restaurant called 'German Gymnasium' a couple of months ago. It's near King's Cross, so that's probably about 15 to 20 mins. from your house. It used to be an actual gymnasium during the 1800's, but it got renovated and was converted into a restaurant. They mainly serve Central European food, if you're both into that. Personally, I thought the food was incredible, and I think you should try that in particular._ `

`_16:24 M: that's perfect! well, the food option, I mean lol. she's half-German, so I think she'll like it. thank you!_ (smiling emoji)`

` _16:24 T: No problem._ `

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his phone.  _So much for being nervous._

 

* * *

 

"Lunch," was the first word Sophie told Tom when she arrived home.

Tom raised a brow, his eyes following her as she hastily walked through the door and slipped off her flats at the shoe rack. He closed the door behind him, following the slightly older woman as she entered the living room/kitchen.

"Lunch?" Tom repeated.

Right before Sophie arrived home, Tom brought the boys to their cribs in the baby room, so it was only the two of them in the lower floor of the house.

Sophie was currently observing the 'painting' that Tom and her eldest son had finished, which had been taped up on the wall per Kit's insistence. She smiled warmly before glancing over at Tom.

"Yes," she responded. "That's how Ben and I will compensate. We'll take you out for lunch around the end of the month. Ben's mum has the week off at that time, so she'll be here to look over the boys while we're out. What do you say?"

He scratched the back of his neck.

"I don't know…"

"Tom, if you say that it's  _not_  necessary…" Sophie began in a warning tone.

"Well, I'm flattered, but—"

"— _but_  you should absolutely accept it as compensation, especially since you've been over quite a few times."

Tom knew that there was no point in practically  _arguing_ with Sophie since she always found ways to disprove their own claims. No offence, but he didn't know how Benedict could possibly get away with a feat like that.

"I… suppose," Tom said slowly, putting it to an end.

" _Great_ ," Sophie replied, beaming. She set her leather tote on the couch. "You know, the music director of the opera orchestra, Maestro Antonio Pappano— I was speaking to him during the rehearsal break. He recommended this  _great_ place to have lunch… the 'German Gymnasium', or I  _think_ that's what it's called…? Not sure if you've heard of it, but it's here in London. Yes,  _anyway_ , we'd love for you have lunch with us there."

He rapidly blinked at her before absentmindedly responding. "I'd  _love_ to."

_Fuck._


	14. May, 2018: 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two-person music camp reunion.  
> Lunch diners’ diplomacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I’m alright. (Not completely happy-go-lucky; see [my personal explanation of Tumblr.](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/185901027783/a-little-personal-update)) Thank you all for your comments and kudos, however!  
> This chapter marks the end of May! It’s been… _long_ and eventful, but June will be just as promising.  
> Remember, there are links to give visual/auditory references.

_May 2018_

 

Mara’s attempts at convincing Caroline were successful.

Well, it took a while, but she was successful anyway.

With the… _plausible_ arguments that Mara had given to Caroline, her English-German friend eventually gave in and accepted the invitation to stay at her house for a bit. As of now, Caroline was going to arrive in London in approximately two hours, and Mara warned her about the likeliness of getting lost around the city. 

_[“You remember my address, right?” Mara asked with an abruptly stern tone. “Da—“_

_“—yes, yes,” Caroline reassured. “I wrote it down and everything.”_

_…“I’m surprised you remember how_ _terrible_ _I am with directions,” Caroline remarked later. “Your Zürich trip would’ve been a bit longer if we hadn’t actually gotten lost in the city that I_ _bloody_ _live in. Well, at least I know enough Swiss German to get around without us getting horribly lost.”_

_“My butchered Hochdeutsch from Curtis’s classes wouldn’t have done a lot of favours for either of us,” Mara admitted to her on the phone. “Neither would your Bavarian.”]_

Opening up one of the spare rooms upstairs to clean and arrange, Mara started to think about how impractical it was for her to live in a house that had more bedrooms than occupants. 

 _That’s what happens when you’re young, dumb, and impulsive,_ she thought to herself as she swept her floor. _Breaking up with your boyfriend? Buy a fucking house on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean to run away from all of your problems back in America._

It made sense for Benedict and Sophie to own a home of this size, since they were a family and needed to accommodate their potential growth. Hell, it had even made sense for their other neighbours, as Mara was sure that they were all families as well. Here… it was just her, her violin, and her houseplants. And she and her violin weren’t even home most of the time.

According to Sophie, the previous occupants of Mara’s home, an elderly couple, had stayed long before she and Benedict had even moved in. Eventually, they sold the home to (ironically) move to the United States. In Mara’s opinion, she couldn’t possibly _think_ of wanting to permanently return at that time, but it’s not like she could tell the couple that by knocking on their door in Florida.

The duvet and pillowcases on Caroline’s bed were white, contrasting with the walnut-coloured hardwood floors. Set up in front of the bed was the dresser, which was dusted and now had a little houseplant that Mara placed on top. In the corner of the room was a floor mirror that had a taped photo of teenaged Mara and Caroline, one that Mara kept in her violin case along with other personal photos.

_[“_ _Here_ _are the photos I keep inside my case,” Mara displayed, happily gesturing to each of them. “I keep adding if necessary.”_

_Her violin case was wide open and sat in front of Sophie on the couch. The older brunette woman intently observed each one— a teenaged Mara and an older bearded man, a tall brunette man and a black-haired woman hugging him, an older woman with blue-grey eyes holding a baby, and another of teenaged Mara with a curly-haired girl._

_“You’ve got a bit of a collection going on,” Sophie commented, glancing up at Mara. “Do you mind giving me details?”_

_She eagerly nodded. “Yeah, yeah— so from left to right, that’s me with my violin teacher Mr. Rosand, that’s my brother and his girlfriend, that’s my aunt holding me as a baby, and that’s me with a friend I met at music camp. I’m planning to add more pictures, but I’m digging through my boxes…”]_

Mara did have one other photo, but she was glad enough to admit that the photo of a particular Harvard alumni was now reduced to ashes in the fireplace of her apartment back in New York City.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps wearing socks on hardwood floor and _running_ to the front door was not a good idea, as the sound of knocking caused Mara to sprint to the foyer and nearly slip. Regardless of the _near-death experience_ , she was glad to find an ecstatic Caroline standing at her door. The curly-haired woman was wearing her black triangular-shaped violin case on her back, and had her luggage bag sitting next to her. At the sight of her friend, Caroline practically jumped on Mara and tightly wrapped her arms around her.

“Hey— it’s been a long… four or five months…?” Caroline remarked, still embracing Mara.

“Nearly five, actually, but it’s still technically _four_ — and _hey_ ,” Mara breathed out, and her strained tone caused Caroline to loosen her embrace and back away a bit.

While fixing her rain jacket, Mara raised a brow at her choice of outerwear.

Caroline saw her reaction and rolled her eyes. “Your forecast said it was going to drizzle out here.”

Mara sighed. “Well, not right now—“

All of a sudden, the sound of light sprinkling came about, small droplets of rain progressively starting to hit the pavement and the street.

“…never mind.” Mara scratched the back of her neck as Caroline snickered. “ _Come in_ , though.”

To be nice, Mara decided to bring her belongings up to the spare room as her friend surveyed the first storey of the house. Caroline curiously opened every door and walked in every room, rolling her eyes at the sight of Mara’s unopened award boxes in the room with the full-lite door, or peeking in the coat closet to find a colourful collection of outerwear.

“Aw, you brought your violin,” Mara gushed as she hastily walked down the stairs. “We gotta play a duet while you’re here. Bach’s Double Violin Concerto? Or Mazas’s Douze Petit Duos?”

“I’m up for Bach sometime this week,” Caroline replied, closing the door to the coat closet. She followed Mara into the hallway and living room/kitchen, setting her violin case on the couch.

Mara headed to the kitchen, where she started to take out containers of teabags from the overhead cabinet. Caroline watched her do so.

“Making tea?”

“Yeah, what kind?”

She was silent for a moment, thinking of what she wanted.

“Green tea, please— if you have it. I have a feeling I’m going to drink a lot of black and/or Earl Grey tea while I’m here, and I’m trying not to get sick of it before I visit my dad’s. No need for me to vomit if he offers it to me next week.”

Quietly snickering, Mara turned around to grab the container of green teabags.

 

* * *

 

As expected, both friends had quickly revisited Bach’s Double Violin Concerto to play a quick run-through of the piece together.

…for a good half hour did they argue about the direction of bow strokes and gossiped about their violinist colleagues, but they’d never reveal that if they were asked about how their practise time was used.

After their little “bonding” moment between their violins, as Mara put it to Caroline’s dismay, they did their post-practise routines and returned their instruments to their respective cases. Mara decided that this was the best time to give Caroline insight on what she planned to give her a feel of London and its environment— including particular places to eat at.

They were now lounging on the couch, shoulder-to-shoulder.

“The… German Gymnasium?” Caroline read off of Mara’s laptop screen before turning to her. “Am _I_ the reason why we are going to a restaurant named _that?_ ”

Mara snorted, shaking her head. “No. A… _friend_ suggested the place to me. It’s just near Kings Cross, look.”

She pointed at the map that popped up from the Google search. “Based off of the pictures, the place looks pretty nice.”

“A _friend_ , huh.”

Caroline didn’t look convinced at the noun. Mara’s betting that Caroline no longer cared about the restaurant search due to the indirect mentioning of Tom.

“I’m _serious_ ,” Mara asserted, huffing. “He said ‘the food was incredible’, in verbatim.”

“Oh, _he?_ ”

Turning around slowly, Mara gave her a deadpanned look before chucking the nearest throw pillow at Caroline. She dodged it just in time, letting it fall onto the hardwood floor as she burst into laughter. Mara’s cheeks had turned pink.

“ _Friend_ , I tell you,” Mara continued, letting Caroline toss the pillow at her. “Nothing more… nothing less.”

She took a deep breath after saying that. _Love bringing myself down._

_But he hugged you—_

_—that doesn’t mean_ _anything_ _! He was probably just being nice, you weirdo. You_ _were_ _a sobbing mess right before that._

Caroline shrugged nonchalantly at her response. “I’m just joking. I’ll take your word for it— nothing more, nothing less. I won’t say _anything_ on the matter any longer. Nothing. This mouth will be sealed.” 

She mimicked closing a zipper over her lips.

Jumping on the couch next to Mara, Caroline idly sat there for a moment as Mara went on Yelp and scoured through reviews.

…until Caroline had spoken up again.

“What do you mean a _friend_ had suggested it to you? I thought you didn’t have friends—”

Mara choked, gaping at her in shock.

“What do you— what do you mean _I don’t have friends?_ ” she asked, simultaneously nervous, amused, _and_ a little offended. “I do _here._ But you know most of my friends live in the States— like Jasmin and Ryan…”

This was _not_ the time for Mara to explain the falling out she had with Sophie, who… sort of _was_ one of her only friends in the UK. She hadn’t even _told_ Caroline that Benedict Cumberbatch and his wife lived across the street from her out of apprehension and _common sense_.

 _Caroline isn’t reckless enough to blabber anything ‘confidential' I tell her, but what kind of neighbour would I be if I went around saying that Ben and Sophie were _ _my_ _neighbours? I got to know them personally as a wealthy, grounded couple, not a famed, thespian star-studded couple. I wouldn’t want them doing the same with me— well, even though I’m nowhere near that level of fame… but still._

“You never speak about the friends you have made here, though. Were they mind-your-own-business-y like you East Coast people?”

“Hey, we’re not all like that.” Mara paused. “In my case, not completely.”

“ _Not_ until your brother met his fiancée. She’s from California— they’re a whole different group on that side of America— and I can _tell_ she had a bit of an influence on you.”

Regardless of her _once_ -friendship with Sophie, Mara needed to clarify that it wasn’t exactly a _voluntary_ decision to _not_ befriend anyone in London. Her tours typically lasted for almost an entire orchestra season, which was a little less than a year, so she was almost always out of the country. It was only now that Mara realised that her workload was _slightly_ more than her older colleagues, having to perform several more concerts within the year, but she needed a way to fully pay off her house and her car. 

 _Naomi’s probably_ _dying_ _for me to have a break— just once_ , she pondered. _But I can’t just have one right now._

 _Anyway_ , with Sophie (and possibly the rest of her family) out of the picture, Mara thought she might need to get out a bit to surround herself with new people. Assuming that the other _older_ neighbours were like Mrs. Caulfield, the encroachment-obsessed chemist, Mara doubts that the neighbours would want to befriend someone old enough to be their daughter. 

Even if she started missing her friends, Mara wasn’t planning to move back to the US anytime soon. She wasn’t even sure if she was willing to do a transient visit.

 

* * *

 

“Parking space, parking space— is that an open one?” Tom asked to himself, narrowing his eyes at the column through the windscreen. Driving forward, he eventually saw the small Fiat 500 car parked in the spot that he would’ve been in. Tom sighed heavily.

“Just my luck that the one space I thought I’ve found has a _tiny_ car there,” he muttered. Slightly irked, Tom was suddenly becoming even more vigilant for an open space, or even for someone that was about to leave.

Eventually, he _did_ find an open space, but the area had less vehicles and was further from the entrance/exit. He figured that it’d be easy to identify his car there, even if the walk would take a while.

As usual, Tom was wearing his ‘uniform’, but as summer was coming around he didn’t feel the need to don his jacket on. He stepped out of his car and locked the doors.

Tom took one last glance at his car before strolling out of the parking garage. Out of habit, he pushed his glasses up as he cautiously walked left to the restaurant, where he was going to meet Benedict and Sophie. Unbeknownst to him, the married couple was already there. If Tom was the type to arrive a bit early, they ( _Benedict_ , in particular) were the type to arrive _very_ early… and weren’t really ashamed of it.

Inside, Benedict was speaking with the host at the reception desk. Dressed in a white shirt and his brown jacket and jeans, he began asking about possible seating areas for a ‘party of three’. His wife, on the other hand, was patiently standing near the door. Sophie was waiting for Tom, glancing at the full-lite doors every now and then. She picked at the sleeve of [ her laced black dress with small pink butterflies](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/185873105618/spring-2018-ready-to-wear-9-kate-spade-the).

As soon as Tom approached [ the building](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/185872935403/the-german-gymnasium-london-the-restaurant-that), he couldn’t help but notice that the restaurant _actually_ looked like a gymnasium exterior-wise. A very _old_ one, but a gymnasium regardless. 

In front were outdoor tables with large umbrellas next to shaped plants. While Tom did find the idea of the three of them sitting outside to pleasant, he didn’t think it would be a good idea for them to be out in plain sight. Ideally, he really only wanted a calm, satisfying lunch with his best friend and his wife. Nothing more.

Upon opening the door, he found Sophie standing nearby and approached her. She had already noticed him, based on the smile she flashed at him and her overall serene composure.

“Hi, Tom,” Sophie greeted quietly, holding her handbag with both hands. “So glad you could make it.”

“Oh, yes,” he responded, grinning down at her. Tom continued to glance around. “I forgot how nice this restaurant was.”

Sophie raised a brow. “Have you been here before?”

Tom nodded. “For dinner. I just went out with Luke.”

“Your publicist?” When Tom nodded again, Sophie continued, “Ah, I see. I don’t see him very often with you at premieres anymore… has he been busy?”

Upon hearing this question, he froze in his stance. He hoped Sophie didn’t see how his jaw clenched a bit. “Er— _yes_ , yes. He’s quite busy. After all, he’s got other clients besides me. _Plus_ , I don’t really… erm, I haven’t been at many premieres anyway.”

“That’s right,” Benedict agreed out of the blue, walking over to them. He shoved his hands in his jean pockets as he gave Tom an amused smirk. “You would work _hours upon hours_ on end, but your workload has been more relaxed this year. That’s well-deserved, though.”

Tom patted Benedict’s back as he chuckled. “Thank you.”

Sophie grinned at the two men, before speaking up again. “Have you gotten our seats?”

“Yes,” her husband replied, gesturing at a particular table with beige dining armchairs. “Over there. It’s near enough to the window where we can get some natural light, but far enough so we all don’t have people peeking at us _through_ the window.”

A host walked over to the three of them. “Mr. Cumberbatch?”

He turned around to face the man. “Ready?”

“Ready— follow this way,” the host responded, leading the way to their table already set up with table- and glass-ware, along with a little potted plant in the centre. He set menus down in front of the three spots. “A server with be with you promptly.”

“Thank you,” all three said in unison as they all situated themselves.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, it’s already getting a bit warmer out, isn’t it,” Mara announced as she stepped out of her car in the parking garage. She stretched out her arms a bit, feeling the tepid air surround her.

“23°C, to be exact,” Caroline added, checking her weather app as she also exited the car. She slid her phone back into the pocket of her leather jacket.

Peering inside her windows to check for any exposed valuables, Mara locked her car and gestured for Caroline to follow after her.

As they sauntered out of the parking garage, the brunette woman continued to speak.

“It was a lot colder last month,” Mara commented. “Like… 4°C to 10°C. I’m glad it’s warming up, though, but maybe only because I got used to the terrible summers back in New York City and London’s summers apparently aren’t _that_ bad.”

Caroline raised a brow at her as they continued walking left.

“Apparently?” Caroline repeated. “Do you not know how the summertime is here?”

Mara shook her head. “In 2016, I haven’t even moved into my house yet— I was still living in New York City. In 2017, I was in Singapore… you know, tour slash sightseeing stuff.”

She jokingly rolled her eyes. “You and your never-ending tour. Have you taken a break recently?”

At Mara’s sudden silence, Caroline lightly nudged her in the ribs as they walked alongside one another.

“ _Hey_.”

“You ought to take a break sometime, you know,” Caroline advised. “Being burnt out is no good.”

“Technically, I’m taking a break right now,” Mara countered. “Until—“

“— _until_ you’re going to be in Amsterdam, _continuing_ your tour. That does not count, Mara. I mean a break for _more_ than a month. _Without_ having to perform.”

“I—“ Mara shut up when she received a deadpanned look from Caroline. 

Caroline pinched the bridge of her nose. “Perhaps _I’ll_ make you go on break. Head up to Manchester with me while I visit my dad. He’ll probably tell you about the smashing review he gave for _Deadpool 2._ ”

“Your dad—“ she paused, “—oh, _Deadpool 2?_ What did he think of it?”

“He said it was better than the first one,” Caroline replied before shaking her head. “…you’re derailing the conversation.”

“Sorry,” Mara quickly apologised before continuing, “but anyway, I’m _fine_. I don’t need a break.”

“ _Really?_ ” Caroline asked incredulously as she stepped forward to open the front door of the restaurant.

“Yes, _really_.”

Several metres from the front door, Benedict, Sophie, and Tom were all content, sitting at their table and sipping their waters as they looked over the menu. 

“ _Schupfnudeln_ with young vegetables,” Benedict enunciated with his best German. “I suppose I’ll get that… and you, Tom?”

“Er…” Tom began, eyes quickly travelling up and down the menu. “I think I’ll try the _Leberkäs_ with _Spiegelei_. I don’t think I’ve had that one before.”

Benedict nodded before facing Sophie on his left. “Alright, alright. Sophie?”

“Oh, she’s actually eating today,” Sophie jeered quietly, facing away from Benedict and Tom. “That’s new.”

Benedict raised a brow.

“What are you going on about—“ he quickly whipped his head around to see what his wife was looking at, and his eyes widened.

At the reception desk was Mara, standing beside a shorter woman with mousy-brown curly hair while chatting to the host. As soon as the host gestured in the direction of their table, Benedict immediately turned back around to face Sophie, who frowned as her elbows rested on the table.

He sighed heavily.

“Let’s… let’s just continue on with our lunch, Sophie,” the older actor advised, not realising how Tom suddenly became quiet. “It’s not a big deal.”

 _Pretending that London was always her home, where she’s single and can finally focus on her career_ , Tom thought to himself. He still hasn’t forgotten what she told him when she came over to his house in tears… nor has he forgotten the hug.

_The hug… meant something, though… I think. Does that change anything? Or have I made it… worse?_

Sophie huffed, before glancing at her husband again. “I was planning to get the fish and chips. Nothing too special.”

Back to the host with his female party of two, who was showing them to their table, Caroline led the way. She couldn’t help but notice the bearded man with curly hair intermittently casting a glance at the both of them. Turning around to face Mara, she found that Mara was more preoccupied with what the host was telling her.

“…and we’ll include a list of the wines suggested by our _sommelier_ , should either of you ladies would like to have some,” the host finished informing. “Here are your seats _and_ menus. A server with you promptly.”

Both women gave staggered ‘thank yous’ to the host before sitting down, Caroline’s seat facing the entrance as Mara’s seat was back to it. Caroline took one last glance at the table with the curly-haired man, whose table was currently being served by a server, before narrowing her eyes at Mara.

As soon as Mara opened up her menu, she glanced up to see Caroline’s suspicious expression.

“…what’s wrong?”

“There was a man that was staring at us. Actually, he might’ve been paying attention to _you_ , but _still_ …”

Mara shrugged nonchalantly. “Probably a concertgoer. It’s rare for me to meet them in public areas, but it happens.”

Caroline’s eyes quickly averted to the table again, seeing the man partaking in conversation with another brunette man and woman.

“When I visited the children’s hospital two days ago, what the kids wanted to ask was _hilarious_ ,” Tom happily told the married couple. “We had a whole Q&A on facial hair, asking why I had a beard when Loki didn’t…”

She looked back at Mara.

“He’s not bad looking, but I suppose that he’d look better with a haircut. Perhaps with his beard shaved, too.”

Mara raised a brow at her bluntness. “Who—“

She was interrupted by Caroline _subtly_ jerking a thumb in the direction of the man, and Mara’s sight followed. Her jaw dropped.

 _What the… what the_ _hell_ _is Tom doing here?! Is that Ben? Is that— is that_ _Sophie_ _?_

Facepalming, it was now Caroline that raised a brow at her.

“What?”

“I _know_ him,” Mara revealed after taking a deep breath. “ _He_ was the one who suggested this place for us.”

“ _Him?_ ” she repeated, looking past her shoulder to see him staring back, and quickly faced Mara again. “What’s his name?”

“Tom.”

“How’d you meet?”

“Met him at a party.”

“What party?”

“Neighbour’s birthday— it was a dinner party.”

Caroline blinked at her.

“A _dinner_ party.”

_A dinner party for the woman he’s sitting next to, also known as the woman that doesn’t like me very much…_

“Oh, believe me, I said the same thing when she told me that,” Mara hastily admitted. She drummed her fingers on the menu. “I had to leave early that day, though. You know the Philharmonia Orchestra doesn’t like to wait.”

Caroline chuckled. “But more specifically, _how_ did you meet him? Did you sit next to him, or something?”

“We _eventually_ did sit next to one another at the table,” Mara responded as a matter-of-fact. “But he walked in while I was practising.”

“He _disturbed_ you?”

Mara sighed. “The room with the full-lite door isn’t very soundproof. Their house is built like mine, by the way. I was _also_ practicing the _pizzicato_ chord from the third movement of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto, which you _also_ know isn’t the easiest part to play quietly.”

“You and I always messed that up during music camp,” Caroline reminisced before they both started to snicker. “But anyway, why were you practising at a party? Who does that?”

“Me,” Mara replied bluntly before continuing in amusement, “but _anyway_ … yeah. He heard me practicing, walked in, and we talked.”

“…and?”

She blinked at her.

“What do you mean ‘and’?”

Caroline looked at Mara as if it was obvious. “What else did you do?”

“Um… if I remember correctly, I’m _pretty_ sure I handed my violin to him…”

“Goodness, how much do you _trust_ him?” she asked, absolutely flabbergasted. “You just met the man, and you hand him a $3 million USD instrument?”

“He wanted to see it,” Mara meekly told her. “I _was_ there to catch it if he dropped it…”

Caroline heavily sighed. “ _Mara_ …” 

 _Plus, I just hugged him a few days ago_ , Mara thought to herself as she suddenly remembered. _When I visited his house as a sobbing mess. Oh my God, this is the first time I’m seeing him after the hug, oh no, why am I getting nervous? I wasn’t acting like this when we texted. It’s just a hug, it’s_ _just_ _a hug—_

“We— we should just order now, don’t ya think?” Mara abruptly announced, becoming flustered. “The chicken burger sounds pretty good to me, how about you?”

She mentally facepalmed. _Way to make yourself sound calm, you dummy._

Again, Caroline blinked at her sudden nervousness, before shaking her head. “ _Leberkäs_ with _Spiegelei_. Look, erm, I need to head to the toilet, so do you mind telling the server what I plan to have? Along with water, please?”

“Of course, of course,” Mara replied, giving Caroline a sheepish smile as said woman stood up.

From the corner of her eye, Mara could see Sophie narrowing her eyes at Caroline, who started to momentarily walk away and leave Mara alone at the table. As soon as Caroline headed to the right of their table, Sophie briefly announced to Benedict and Tom that she was leaving for a bit.

“Of course— _wait_ ,” Benedict paused, staring up at her. “Are you going to speak with Mara? _Please_ tell me you’re not.”

The only ‘response’ Sophie gave involved slightly narrowing her eyes at him, which to Benedict translated to _Yes, of course I am._ He could not talk her out of it, as she had abruptly stood up to head over to Mara’s table. Benedict pinched the bridge of his nose, as Tom sighed heavily.

“How do you think this’ll end?” Tom asked, suddenly feeling nervous for both women.

“Not well,” Benedict replied, burying his face in his hands.

Making brief eye contact, Sophie hastily walked towards Mara, sliding onto Caroline’s seat.

Mara gave her a stoic look. “What?” she hissed quietly, briefly glancing at Tom from a distance. She fixed her glasses and stared back at Sophie.

“What are you doing… _here?_ ” Sophie asked in a similar manner.

When Mara gestured at her own table, the older brunette woman gave her a deadpanned look.

“Well… I’m _supposed_ to be having lunch with a friend— not _you_ , though.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Sophie responded in disbelief. “You think we’re on that page now.”

“You’re making it _really_ easy to do that, Mrs. Cumberbatch.”

Sophie crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re acting very immature, now, aren’t you?”

“You’re so _petty_ , dear Lord,” Mara scoffed. “I think we both are. What are we, 12?”

At this, Sophie narrowed her eyes at Mara. “You… you _aren’t_ wrong about how this is ending up. But you _know_ you’re in the wrong.”

“ _Me?_ ” Mara questioned in disbelief. “ _Rather!_ _’Tis preposterous! Codswallop!_ No, but really, _I’m_ in the wrong? How so?”

She saw Sophie giving her a stern look as she used her exaggerated accent in front of her. 

_Maybe I’m the 12-year-old, not giving her an actual fucking answer. Come on, you’re gonna lose this argument! _

“Ben and I are just planning on what we think is right for Christopher and… I mean, Kit and Hal,” Sophie confessed. “We want to give them a well-rounded childhood.”

“By encroachment?”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Come off it. I’m betting that you didn’t even _care_ until that _Mrs. Caulfield_ started speaking to you. Does she have you and the others over for tea to hold ‘cancelling’ parties for Ben and I?”

“I—“ Mara shut up the moment she saw Sophie raising a brow at her. 

 _She’s…_ _kinda_ _right, to be honest. Did I_ _actually_ _care about this before my conversation with Mrs. Caulfield…?_

_You know, I don’t think it matters. I made my decision on what I thought was right, that’s all._

“But that’s breaking some rules, isn’t it? Your shed, I mean,” Mara asked, averting the topic a bit. “We’re all entitled to our own fair share of property.”

“ _You_ or _Mrs. Caulfield_ or… or the _whole bloody street_ shouldn’t worry about it, though. I understand if Nicholas was, since he _actually_ lives right next to our lot and we’re _trying_ to make amends with him, but that _shouldn’t_ mean that _you lot_ should wiggle yourselves into this.”

“But… _aesthetics_ —“

“I hardly think you have the right to use _aesthetics_ as an argument,” Sophie retorted. “Your home office is filled with cardboard boxes and empty shelves.”

 _Damnit, she’s right. They_ _have_ _been doing a good job with their house, though, as much as I’d hate to admit it…_

Not giving Sophie the satisfaction to agree with her, Mara averted the topic yet again. “You had a _plant room_ built in your house. Is horticulture part of your life-lessons guide for your sons or to satisfy _your_ needs?”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “Are you out of your mind—“

Caroline cleared her throat, standing in front of the table along with the server, a younger woman who nervously stood behind her with a tablet.

“Sorry, I’ll move… have a nice day,” Sophie told Caroline nicely, giving her a small smile and briefly glaring at Mara. Mara gave her a stoic look as let Caroline return to her seat, telling the same to Sophie as she walked off.

As soon as the server started to greet Mara and Caroline, Sophie returned to her seat to find her food waiting for her, along with Benedict giving her a stern look.

Benedict sighed. “ _What_ did you tell her?”

Sophie glanced at both Benedict and Tom, who patiently waited for her response, before shaking her head.

“Something,” she replied quietly, _clearly_ not in the mood to discuss it _especially_ in front of their family friend.

Tom felt his phone vibrate in his pant pocket, and he fished for it before squinting at the screen.

`_12:33 M: We need to talk._`

Reluctantly, he slowly glanced up at Mara’s table, finding her chair empty and seeing only her friend speaking to the server. Tom glanced at the windows, seeing her with her striped jumper as she walked towards the parking garage.

`_12:33 M: Now, in the parking garage._`

`_12:33 M: Alone, btw._`

“Excuse me, I need to answer this—“

He abruptly stood up, setting his napkin down on the table next to his plate of food. Benedict and Sophie watched him as Tom quickly walked through the aisle and to the front door. They couldn’t help but watch, even as they saw him heading towards the parking garage from the window, and they shared a look of confusion.

 

* * *

 

She was already there when he arrived. He hadn’t noticed her leave the restaurant at all around the time that she texted her, but he was more focused on Sophie’s conversation with her.

Their footsteps echoed loudly in the parking garage, but neither of them could help it. Tom’s footsteps were actually rather subdued, mainly because he _really_ wasn’t sure what would come of their… _conversation_. Meanwhile, Mara’s footsteps had some sort of briskness to them, as if she were either impatient to tell him something or if she was irked at him. Either way, Tom’s nerves were getting to the best of him.

Eventually, they stopped at what Tom assumed to be Mara’s car, which ended up being confirmed when she unlocked it with her car keys.

“Sit in the front passenger seat,” Mara ordered calmly, opening the right door of the car for herself. She didn’t make eye contact with him.

Tom obeyed, quietly opening the other side’s door and sliding onto the seat. When they both closed their doors, Mara finally looked over at him.

He noticed that she looked rather flustered.

“Um…” she began, shifting in her seat a bit. Mara hadn’t exactly thought this through, as she owned a small car, so Tom was _much_ closer to her than she realised. 

 _It’s not his fault that he’s…_ _kinda_ _too tall for my car_ , Mara thought. _But I think Caroline moved the seat back, so…_

He cleared his throat, interrupting her thoughts.

“Erm, can I just ask— why are we speaking in your car?” Tom asked with an uncertain look on his face. “There’s not really anyone in this parking garage to listen.”

Mara sighed, getting more nervous by the second. “What… are the chances that some wacko photographer— paparazzo, whatever— manages to catch us here?” She paused. “I mean, uh… it’s not like I’m gonna talk about anything _bad_ , I promise.”

He didn’t mean to, but he doubted her words.

She could tell.

“I _swear_ ,” Mara responded, almost amused. “But seriously, I really wanted to talk.”

“About…?”

Again, she sighed. “…no offence, but did you… did you recommend this place for a _reason?_ ”

When Tom didn’t answer immediately, Mara gave him a suspicious look.

“Tom?”

“I did not,” he replied slowly, “except for you needing suggestions for restaurants here in London. Really.”

“Really?”

Now, it seemed like _she_ doubted his words.

“Tom, lemme ask this instead,” Mara began, scooting a little closer to him, nearly centimetres away from him. “Do you… do you _know_ what’s going on? Between… Sophie and I?”

Tom sighed heavily before realising how much closer she got to him. He smelled a hint of citrus, before mentally shaking his head at how much of a nutter he was starting to sound.

Anyway, he couldn’t lie to her, as much as he thought that in _some universe_ , it’d probably be more helpful.

“Yes,” he reluctantly admitted. “Benedict told me.”

Mara moved back, giving him an aghast look, and Tom nearly flinched.

“ _He_ told you?” she asked almost frantically. “Oh my— what did he say? I’m not mad you at all Tom, but can you please tell me? _Please_.”

In the very back of his mind, he briefly imagined a rather foggy scenario, involving a shorter brunette woman situated on the lap of a tall bearded man with curly hair, the woman _eerily_ sounding like her saying the _same_ word but with pure desperation, whispering in his ear as she dug her nails into his naked back, _panting_ —

“ _Tom_.”

He shook his head, ignoring the blush that crept up on his cheeks. This time, Mara didn’t notice.

“He told me about your argument,” Tom elaborated. “You and Sophie had it while we were promoting _Infinity War_.”

For a moment, Mara was quiet. He watched her as she stared at her steering wheel from the corner of her eye, until she spoke again.

“And what did he say about me?” she asked softly. If she was hurt by this, it wasn’t very obvious. “Was he telling you the same things that Sophie was telling me? That I couldn’t _possibly_ know better as someone without my own family?”

Tom’s eyes widened, surprised at her words. “… _no_. He… he said that there were better ways for her to approach this, rather than to, er… tell you _that_. Or to lie to me.”

“She _lied_ to you? About what?” Mara asked, absolutely flabbergasted.

“She only told me you were sick, _that’s why_ you weren’t around when I babysat her sons.”

Mara opened her mouth to speak, but closed it. Tom realised that she wasn’t exactly _angry_ , as he sort of thought she would be, but _disappointed_.

“I see,” she meekly replied before glancing down at her phone to check the time. “Um, well… I— I probably shouldn’t hold you back, you probably want to get back to them—“

“—we hugged,” Tom abruptly pointed out, and Mara froze.

She nodded rather slowly, feeling herself getting nervous again.

“Yes… we… did. What— what about it?”

Tom took a deep breath. He suddenly felt a bit selfish for changing the topic from her _falling out with her good friend_ to _something that he_ _shouldn’t_ _overthink._

The impulsive aspect of his younger self was returning.

“Does that… Mara, please tell me, does that _change_ anything?”

Mara blinked at him.

“Does that change anything between us?” he repeated quietly.

“What do you think?” she softly challenged him, suddenly realising that _she_ didn’t know the answer to either question.

Tom locked eyes with her, almost immersing himself in the one-toned colour of her irises. He couldn’t read her face this time.

“I’m gonna admit it,” Mara continued on as Tom thought of his _own_ answer, “I felt… I don’t know, let’s just say… _nervous_ , even when I asked you to come here to talk to me. I was wondering the same thing.”

“Were you?” he asked, mildly surprised at this.

Mara smirked.

“Of course. When we started texting, I didn’t think about it that much. But in _person_ , well…”

“…it suddenly hit you like a train,” Tom suggested, and they both chuckled.

“ _Yeah_ ,” she agreed, smiling at him. “It _really_ did hit me like a train, _quite_ quickly. The Tube could never.”

Again, they started to laugh, before Mara shook her head.

“But _really_ , the realisation came sooner than I expected, and I didn’t know if I could keep up.”

“Well, _finally_ answering your question,” he told her, “I _do_ think it changes _a lot_ of things between us.”

Mara raised a curious brow at him. “Like…?”

Tom moved _even closer_ to her, to the point that they’d come into _contact_ if they moved anymore. 

It’s not like either of them would mind, though.

“Well, like—“

His phone vibrated in his pocket yet again, and they both moved back at the sudden sound. Mara merely blinked at him, eyeing his phone as he attempted to grab it out of his pocket with the limited amount of space he had in the car.

Feeling an almost-necessary bout of annoyance, Tom looked at his screen to find a text from Benedict.

`_12:47 B: Are you alright?_`

Tom glanced up from his phone to Mara, who gave him a small smile. He gave her an apologetic look, which she didn’t mind, before starting to text a reply back to Benedict, who interrupted him a _little_ too soon.

As much as Mara was grateful that Benedict hadn’t exactly turned on her as his wife did, she was _now_ a little irked that he interrupted their… ‘conversation’.

 

* * *

 

Caroline held up her phone to Mara, who snorted at the sight of her screen.

“Remember [ these pictures](https://emi-robin.tumblr.com/post/185510666883/carolines-post-my-favourite-violinist)?”

Mara snickered at the sight of herself with a hat and the knitting that Caroline had made for her.

“Vividly,” Mara replied in amusement before facing forward.

As Caroline put her phone back in her pocket, her face suddenly became more serious.

“Why haven’t you told me about Sophie?” Caroline gently asked, glancing over at Mara with a worried expression. “Were you trying to hide it from me?”

After their lunch outing, Mara and Caroline sat inside of her car as Caroline insisted on having a ‘little chat’ with her before they went home.

When Mara returned (after Tom, to avoid suspicion by returning together), she enlightened Caroline on the whole issue about Sophie while eating, feeling that it was about time that she knew. Benedict, Sophie, and Tom had left before they had, so it wasn’t as if another… _argument_ would’ve sprouted yet again, but in the parking garage.

Mara’s hands tightly gripped her steering wheel. “I… I don’t even think that was intentional. That— that was just abrupt. What happened, I mean.”

“It’s her fault, not yours. She didn’t really bother listening to your reasoning, no?”

“Actually, um…” Mara stared out of the windscreen, crestfallen. “No… not really. But what I’m starting to become _more_ bothered by is… _why_ I haven’t been thinking about this so much. I haven’t been thinking about Sophie, about our _friendship—_ “

“—which isn’t even _there_ anymore, mind you,” Caroline reminded her.

She turned to face Caroline, aghast. “I’m not even sure if this is supposed to represent _how_ much I cared about her while we were friends. When we get into arguments, it tends to be resolved by the end of the day or week. It has _never_ taken this long— and I haven’t even _thought_ about mending anything between us for the past few weeks. I’ve been _so_ focused on my performances, my interviews, my practising instead of clearing up a few things with Sophie… should I be worried?”

Caroline blinked at her. “And what is wrong with being focused on your career? Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

Mara looked down at her lap. _Great for my words to come back and bite me in the ass._

“…well, yeah.”

“But here you are, moping about losing your friendship with someone who, in my opinion, isn’t worth your time. I thought you moved here to focus on career-related endeavours, because you’ve been deprived of that back home, like you said…?”

Sighing heavily, Mara leaned her head back on the headrest of her car seat. “You’re right. You totally are.”

“Do you _really_ know what you want to do?”

Her eyebrows creased. 

“Do I?” It was almost a question for herself.

Caroline gave her a deadpanned look. “Based on how you’re acting, I want to assume that you _don’t_. You’re stuck in this little ‘rut’ of yours again because you’re trying to please everyone around you, _including_ yourself. I gave you this _same_ lecture when you were still with… er, _him_.”

“Darren, yeah.” When Mara saw Caroline’s shocked face, as if she openly said something derogatory, she merely brushed it off. “What? I saw him earlier this month. He’s sightseeing and attending an auction.”

“…how did you see him from _either_ of those activities?” Caroline was absolutely flabbergasted that Mara had no shame in mentioning him _now._ “You live here and you never liked auctions.”

Well, knowing Mara, the lack of shame was probably a defence mechanism to hide how she was _really_ feeling.

 _Standard_ , Caroline thought to herself, inwardly rolling her eyes.

“He showed up at my concert— the one with Maestro Tilson Thomas,” Mara elaborated _just_ as Caroline was about to interject, “he bought tickets before finding out that I was going to fill in for Janine Jansen.”

“And he… _didn’t_ refund them?”

Mara rolled her eyes, but because of what Darren did. “Trust me, I don’t know why he didn’t do that, either.”

She raised a brow at Mara, and Mara knew _very well_ what she was trying to say from that look alone.

“ _No_ , he doesn’t want me back. Don’t you dare—“

“He _misses_ his so-called ‘arm candy’,” Caroline said sarcastically. “Why else would he _not_ refund his tickets?”

“…to see a concert,” Mara replied as if it was obvious. “Look, we hate each other, but I know he can’t deny a performance from a talented ensemble.”

Caroline sighed. “Now, you’re just sounding a _tad_ too cocky. How do you know that he _didn’t_ tune out your playing during Sibelius’s Violin Concerto? The violin overpowers the orchestra for a good portion of that piece.”

“I still know Darren pretty well, as much as I’d hate to admit it,” Mara confessed, feeling rather embarrassed. “But… it— it doesn’t matter. That’ll be the last time I see him. He goes to a different city, like… every _week_. Takes advantage of his bitcoin investments.”

“ _Bitcoin investments?_ ”

“It’s a long story…” Mara shrugged off, sighing heavily. She didn’t really feel like talking about Darren any longer. “Hey, why don’t we go now?”

Caroline slowly nodded as she started to open the spare water bottle Mara kept in her car. “…sure, sure.”

“Oh, by the way,” Mara added, casually starting her car. “Tom sat in your seat while he and I talked.”

She choked on her water, ironically almost spilling the bottle _on_ herself and the seat.

“You— you _can’t_ be serious! Are you serious? You’re not!”

“Hey, be careful— this car is _pricey_ , and I’m not done paying it off,” Mara lightly scolded, feeling _dread_ building up at the idea of Darren being a common subject of conversation, even while she was trying to distract herself with… well, _Tom_.


End file.
